Chapter 27
The sun had already been up for three hours before I awoke. Father Brown had finished the morning mass and cooked breakfast for the two of us. He was carrying a tray of food into the study when I pushed open the passage door. Brown looked at me strangely. I suppose he still couldn’t believe what he had read. He spoke, “Good morning, Matthew. How does eggs, hash browns, toast and bacon sound? And of course, lots of coffee because I have a feeling that you have quite a story to tell me. So why don’t you begin at the beginning and fill me in.”
We sat down at his small, old wooden table. I told him about cloning an egg from the Shroud of Turin DNA samples and the years that followed. Much of this could be gathered from city newspapers, Catholic newsletters, and continuous coverage in the major news magazines. Nothing new except when I spoke of my meetings with Jesus. “Father Fred, there was something that I could never figure out. I knew how to create an exact replica of Jesus physically but what about the soul? If it’s given by God, if it’s our connection to Him, then how in the world could this Jesus have one? I could do the physical but not the spiritual.”
Brown had no answer. He told me something he could not pinpoint that had always gnawed at his trust in this new Jesus. When I asked the question, he realized what caused that mistrust—he had never felt any spiritual link to this Messiah.
I continued, “A few weeks ago, Thompson and Bishop Russo brought the clone to me again. Something was wrong. They wanted me to fix him. They acted like I was running some kind of auto mechanic shop and they were bringing him in under warranty.”
Brown laughed.
“I started to examine him. The body was deteriorating. I can’t figure out what was happening to his body. Why would the body deteriorate and why was I glad of it?”
Brown looked at me like I was making a lot of sense in my confusion. I knew there was a lack in my understanding of God and the way we were created. Father Brown asked me, “Matt, if God has ordained our lives to live for a certain period of time and if this is truly Jesus' DNA make-up, wouldn’t it have been designed to live only this long?”
I’m sure my eyes sparkled with revelation. I felt like it was the first reflection of the old Matthew in days. “Father Brown, you may be absolutely right. If this is Jesus’ body, then more than likely he has only a few months, at the most, left. He is destined to die. Then there is nothing I can do about it. Now, there’s one more big question to answer. What about the two priests that are chasing me around the country?”
“The what?”
“Well, after I told Thompson and Russo that I couldn’t do anything, I also voiced my feeling that I couldn’t sense any spiritual presence from him. They asked me if I could meet them the next day for one final exam. I then got a call from the Director of the CIA and he led me to believe I was in danger. Maybe it’s because I’ve always suspected that it was Jesus that poisoned the Pope that I was inclined to believe the CIA. Anyway, I grabbed my family and escaped to the states. They’re in hiding until I find us a safe house.”
Brown quizzed further, “How do you know they’re after you?"
“After we left Zurich, our house was broken into. The neighbor who told me about it said two priests came by, one dark haired, one light colored. I kept thinking that Starsky and Hutch from the old TV show were after me. Then here in the U.S. I was meeting with one of my former Grad school professors in a restaurant in Philadelphia. Two priests entered and sat at a table near us. When they walked in they looked at me several times and spoke quietly to each other. I was looking for two guys that looked like Starsky and Hutch, and wouldn’t you know it, they didn’t disappoint me. I mentioned it to the professor. He had a flaming appetizer ordered for their table. When it came, the old guy tripped the waiter. The scalding liquids went all over them. While they were screaming, I slipped out the back through the kitchen. I’ve been running ever since. That’s why I showed up last night so exhausted.” As I finished, I poured myself another cup of coffee.
I could tell Brown was very confused. Looking back now, I’m sure he was thinking that there was a great discrepancy between what he read in the letter the night before and what he’d heard the next morning. He decided to ask some questions, “Matt, are you sure they just don’t want you to return and help them find a cure? Maybe, you’d do best by going back and settling this issue.”
“Archbishop Russo made it very clear that he understood there was nothing I could do. He also said that I was to keep silent about what I knew or they would make sure I stayed silent. I think he meant permanently. At first, it only infuriated me. Then Thompson started asking about my family in a very intimidating way. They already knew where my daughter lived and how many grandchildren I had. I figured then they were serious. That’s why my family’s in hiding and I’m running across the country.”
“Matthew,” Brown started to confess, “yesterday I received a letter from the Vatican. I didn’t open it until after you went to bed. The letter’s view of the story is quite different. To them you are mentally unbalanced and part of a plot to destroy this Messiah you created. It asked me to call the Bishop in Pittsburgh.” He paused and my heart thumped with terror. Brown continued, “So I did.”
As we spoke a news story flashed on the television Father Brown had in the kitchen. The story was out of Philadelphia. The talking head had a perplexed look on his face as he reported. According to the story two men disguised as priests attempted a hold-up on a small Philly cafe. In the confusion an elderly college professor was shot and killed. When they mentioned Dr. Grant's name both the Father and I gasped simultaneously.
“Father Brown, did you hear that? That means your phone call will bring the killers to this door. They could be here any minute. Why did you do that? This could mean my life,” I screamed as I jumped up.
Father Brown stood up and walked to me. He grabbed me by the shoulders and spoke loud and fast into my face. “Matthew, I’m sorry. But how did I know that your story is true? I mean, two priests that look like Starsky and Hutch chasing you across the nation just to kill you, seems a little far out there. Maybe you did need some help.”
Brown heard the front door of the church open and he spun away from me. He must’ve forgotten to lock it after the morning mass. I heard it too. Fear stiffened my body. The priest moved to the little window that looked out into the sanctuary with me right behind him. We saw two figures walking up the darkened side aisle. As they walked through the rays of stained glass sunlight we got a look at them. Two priests, one was dark haired, one light colored. It was the two killers. As they approached the altar and the door to his study, the priests reached into their coats pulling out hand guns. Brown had less than ten seconds to think of something and to react while I moved toward the secret passageway.
The old priest placed his bulking arms under the desk, a desk obviously too small for a former Notre Dame lineman. I watched silently as the door opened. The fake priests entered with guns drawn ready to silence me. At that moment, Father Brown lifted his desk off the ground and hurled it at the two while he yelled at me to run. The old wooden desk struck the two and knocked them to the ground. One instinctively aimed his gun at Brown and fired two shots. One struck him in the side and as the gun recoiled, the other pierced his shoulder.
In the midst of the mayhem, I undid the latch to the door into the hidden passage, passed into the hallway and snapped the door back into place. Inside, I was torn between going back to aid Father Brown or staying hidden. I heard the sound of the two priests beating on the wall and that made my decision for me. I had already prepared for an escape route. It was becoming more of a second nature to me. I reached up, and broke the bulb in the hallway, and then raced for the stairway. At the top I undid the latch to the storeroom designed to hide the expensive relics and liturgical utensils. As I smashed the light bulb near it, I heard the two open the door below. I slipped inside and hoped that in the dark no one would discover me.
Soteri yelled at Chuckie the Hat, “Why did you shoot the priest? That noise is going to bring the cops.”
They stopped and the Hat spoke, “I can’t see a thing. It was tough enough to find that latch in a lighted room. He’s probably upstairs and out a window by now.”
Soteri retorted, “We’ve got less than five minutes to find him before this place is crawling with uniforms. Go back through the old man’s study and find the other staircase to the rectory. I’ll continue searching here. If he left then he couldn’t have gotten far. We should be able to track him down by evening.”
I heard him climb the staircase and paw at the door to the hallway. Those few moments seemed like an eternity then I heard the Hat open the rectory hallway passage door. “Any signs of him?” asked Soteri.
“Nothing. He got out of here already or he disappeared into thin air,” said the Hat. “Let’s split. The cops will be here in a few minutes.” I sucked in a deep breath and let it out as I heard them depart. In the small hidden room I noticed a window. I pressed easily to open it so I could watch and hear the street below. Before long the police arrived.
The first officer that arrived on the scene was Big Tony Marone. I learned their names later. He coasted into the area with his headlights off, and parked one hundred feet east of the building. I could hear Marone radio to his backup officer to come in from the west and take a position to cover that side. Forty-five seconds later, Jimmy Smith took up his position. I saw Marone frown and spit over the dispatchers choice of backup for him. When he saw Smith, Marone uttered the word “boot” because Smith had only been on the streets two weeks. Marone told Smith where he wanted him and what he wanted him to do, “Stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut.” Big Tony’s concern was that Smith would get his stupid rookie head shot off and Tony didn’t want to lose another cop to a dumb mistake.
Once Smith was in position, Marone radioed his dispatcher and asked her to call the Church to make phone contact with someone inside. Marone didn’t rush into things and had a reputation for going cautiously by the book. Big Tony wanted to know who was inside and if anyone was hurt. Most of these calls turned out to be firecrackers or cars backfiring but then Big Tony hadn’t gotten to be as old or as big as he was by assuming anything.
It seemed like an hour to Marone outside and me inside but only a few minutes passed when dispatch radioed back that there was a busy signal. Dispatch had asked the operator to do an emergency break-through. The operator reported that the phone must be off the hook. “Criminy,” said Tony, “This is not good.” His skin started to crawl. He didn’t want to make entry without more backup but he was concerned for any injuries inside that could use immediate attention. Marone radioed his dispatch again and asked for two more officers and for a paramedic unit to standby in case they’re needed. He knew fast medical treatment was important but rushing in without more help could make them dead. “And dead ain’t no help to anyone,” he mumbled.
Within minutes of Marone’s request for help, the back-up, John Toronski and Ray Weber came. Weber said to Toronski, “If Big Tony is asking for more officers then something big is going on.” Everyone knew Tony had an uncanny way of smelling trouble. Both Toronski and Weber were veterans and with them, Tony knew it would be S.O.P.
Big Tony looked at Toronski, “Take your position on the southeast corner, that way you can watch both the front and the east side of the building.” Turning to Smith, he barked, “Stay where you are on the northwest corner so you can observe the west side and rear of the building.” Marone breathed a cop’s prayer that Smith would do what he was told and keep his eyes wide open. Boots make mistakes.
Big Tony was ready to make entry to the building. He and Weber approached the front doors cautiously. Weber said he was surprised that his hands still went clammy after all these years. Tony had his pistol drawn and at the ready while Ray had the twelve gauge in his cold, sweaty hands. Marone seemed at ease having Ray back him up with the twelve gauge Remington pump.
I moved over to a peep hole cut in the wall overlooking the sanctuary. I had a feeling that this room was once used for more than storage. They entered the dark church, Tony went low and to the left. Ray went high and to the right and swept the interior looking for any potential threats. They went down separate aisles, and kept each other in sight while Tony used his flashlight to shine a quick flash on shadowed areas. They didn’t want the light to pinpoint their location. Tony’s training officer used to say, “Bad guys like it when you advertise your location.” Searches made Tony tense but like any cop he loved the adrenaline rush.
Once they cleared the pews, the two came to the door of Father Brown’s study. At this point I could no longer see but their conversation told me all I needed to know. The door was slightly open and strangely lit. The light radiated up from the floor, casting eerie shadows in the room. According to police procedure, Tony looked at Ray and nodded to the door. Ray knew this meant they were going to make entry, Tony was low on the left and Ray was high on the right.
I could hear the sound of gun metal on wood as Ray reached out for the door touching it with the barrel of the shotgun, slowly pushing it. As the door creaked open, the source of the odd lighting came into view. The desk was turned over and the lamp had fallen to the floor with its shade cocked at an angle. Their eyes raced around the room quickly, looking for perps. Nobody was seen but they still entered cautiously and spread out in opposite directions from the doorway. As Ray moved to the right, Marone noticed him stop and stare at the floor behind the desk. Weber looked up at Tony, his large saddened eyes said “it isn’t good,” even before he stated it.
Tony took a few steps toward the desk and at his feet was the lifeless body of Father Brown. He was laying on his side. He had attempted to scratch out words on the carpet in his own blood. It looked like an “M,” a “T” and the numbers two, four, two and four again. Big Tony moved forward and checked the priest’s carotid artery for a pulse, there was none. The two couldn’t help Brown and they had to finish their search. They whispered that the killer may still be in the building and neither one wanted to be the next victim. They continued the search. I crouched low and quiet in my hiding place praying they would not discover me.
When Tony was satisfied that there wasn’t a threat to himself or the other officers he picked up his radio and said “code four.” It was secure. Marone called the dispatcher, “Got a probable homicide. Notify the homicide detective and the coroner.” With that done, Tony sent Jimmy Smith and John Toronski to the rectory to search for clues. Before they went, Tony called to them, “Hey guys, be careful or what you see here could be you.” Toronski would keep Smith out of trouble and look out for the kid. Tony had Weber wait outside for homicide and the coroner while he took notes in the dead priest’s study concerning what he had seen. More officers arrived. Marone sent them to interview the person who reported the shots and to check the neighborhood for other possible witnesses.
Through my peephole and the open front door, I could see Charley Elliot’s car ease up to the front of the church. Elliot swung from his car and walked up to Weber who was scribbling his notes. “Hi, Charley,” said Weber as he looked up from his notepad and wrote down the time Elliot had arrived. “Somebody’s whacked the old priest, Father Brown. The study was tossed. My guess is that it’s a robbery that got botched. Big Tony’s inside with the body. Hey, how could someone do that to a priest?” Elliot grumbled and went into the church. He knew exactly where the study was since he had been an altar boy there years ago, lots of years ago.
Walking into the study, he saw Marone sitting in the chair in the far corner writing in his pad. Marone barely looked up at Elliot, “Charley, we got a bucket for ya this time.” Elliot grunted back, “What yinz got ‘T’?” Big Tony detailed the story, which is where I got a lot of what I’ve been able to write. “When we got inside, we found Father Brown just as you see him. He had bled out before we got to him. He started writing something over here. I can’t quite make it out, just letters and numbers is all I can see.” Charley recognized the bloody scribbles as a Bible reference to Matthew 24:24, he was jotting a note to look it up when Jimmy Smith walked in.
“A Bible verse? Hey, I know that one. 'For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.'”
Tony and Elliot stared at Smith as if he were from an alien planet. Elliot quizzed, “Are you sure, kid?” The reference was more important than anyone else would know. It gave Elliot a good idea of what happened.
“Twelve years in AWANA. We had to learn verses all the time. Matthew 24:24 was one of them. Actually I'm kind of amazed that I remembered it,” Smith said with sense of pride before Big Tony waved him out of the room.
Tony continued to speak, “I’m sorry, I know the two of you used to work together with the neighborhood kids.” Elliot grunted again and walked around the room. Tony added his assessment, “Looks to me like someone tried to maybe burg the place and the priest caught him.”
“Could be,” Elliot answered. Charley wasn’t known to be that talkative at a crime scene. He was busy looking at everything trying to put things together and see what the facts said, not what people supposed. “This ain’t no bungled burg or robbery,” he said as he noticed the dishes and food from two meals. “Someone was here with Father Brown. Where’s the other person?” Elliot asked Marone. I started to sweat in my little room.
“What are you talking about, Charley?”
“Look here, we’ve got plates and food for two people and its fresh. I can still smell the bacon in the air.”
Marone’s embarrassed response was evident, “I didn’t even notice. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks, huh? The place is clear though. We searched it and found nothing.”
“Search it again and look for anything that might tell us who was here with the victim,” Elliot barked. The body was no longer Father Brown to Charley. He was just “the victim.” That was Elliot’s way of avoiding emotional involvement. He needed to remain open minded and objective and the only way he could do that was to see each person as the “victim.” Brown was just the “victim,” a case that needed to be solved. Charley asked, “Did the lady, who called in, see anything?”
Another cop stepped into the room. He overheard the question and interrupted, “Detective, I just came back from the neighbor’s house. She only saw a car with two men in it speeding away.”
Elliot was irritated that he would have to ask for more information and barked out, “So what did the guys look like? What did the car look like? Do we have an APB out on this yet? Come on guys, don’t wait around for me to ask all the questions. Give me the info.”
The officer flipped open his pad and started to rattle off, “She’s pretty old and her eyes ain’t good. But she did say it was a dark, late-model car about midsized with two men, white guys, both dressed in black or some kinda dark color.”
“Is there an APB out on this?”
“My partner is calling it in now.”
“Good work. Now has anyone bothered to check the passageway up to the rectory,” Charley asked. My fear turned to nausea when I heard this.
From all the blank stares, Elliot knew they weren’t even aware of the old secret passage. Charley moved to the wall. “I used to be an altar boy here in St. Luke’s, years and years ago. Every once in awhile, the priest back then would send me upstairs to get stuff he forgot. There’s this passageway from the study up to the rectory. Look at this, officers, let me give you a lesson in detective work. See the scratches along here. It looks like someone was furiously looking for the latch that opens the door.” He popped it open. “Give me a flashlight.”
One of the officers brought over his police issue. Elliot grabbed it and flashed the light inside. “Gentlemen, can you see the broken bulb glass on the floor. Whoever it was escaped through here and probably out an upstairs window. Which explains why there’s two meals down in the study. Check the upstairs rooms for some kinda sign of a visitor.”
I listened intently. I figured the Detective didn’t know about the secret compartment or he would’ve been up the stairs in a minute to find his witness or murderer. I sat and listened.
One of the officers returned with my bag and spoke to Elliot. “Found this upstairs in one of the rooms. There are some papers inside that belong to a Matthew MacDonald.”
“Matthew MacDonald. I hearda him. Wonder why he was here,” questioned Elliot. Most likely, his mind started flashing through the evidence like a video in fast forward. He turned to the other cops and closed the passage. “I was wrong. The cobwebs haven’t been disturbed. Nobody’s been in there for awhile.” Upstairs, I sighed.
“How do you know him, Charley,” asked Marone.
“He’s the guy that did the cloning of Jesus,” he answered.
“How do you know that?”
“I read. Something you Neanderthals should try.” Charley Elliot was a decorated war veteran. Over the years, he grew disillusioned with life, religion and politics. In the past few months, he’d gotten involved with the Quaker State Movement, a small group of dissenting patriots that didn't see the nation's alignment with the cloned messiah as a good thing.
“From what I heard, this MacDonald guy told some church groups out east that this Jesus clone ain’t kosher. But most likely, you guys don’t know or care about that stuff,” Charley stopped talking then picked up another conversation. “So are we done here?” Elliot asked as they carried out Brown’s body.
“All through, Detective.”
“OK, I’m gonna stay around for a few more minutes and see if we missed anything. Leave MacDonald’s bag for me to go through,” Elliot requested.
In a few minutes the police cars pulled away. I still heard one set of footsteps walking around. Then the steps moved down the passageway and up the stairs toward the hiding place. I heard his fingers on the latch to my hiding place. It opened and the dimly lit face of Detective Charley Elliot was staring me in the eyes. I looked down and the Detective’s gun was pointed at me. My heart stopped for a moment and I could feel tears of fear come to my eyes. I was caught. It was over.