Relic

A knock at the door startled Claudio from his doze in front of the television. He looked at the clock, 11:30 pm.

What would it be this time? he wondered.

Claudio switched off the replay of a classic football match between Turin FC and AC Milan and walked stiffly to the door. He wasn't surprised to see a priest in a long black cassock when he peered through the peephole. As head caretaker at the Duomo di Milano, Claudio was the first one woken for a broken windowpane, blocked drain, or when the correct key couldn’t be located.

“Is something wrong at the cathedral?” he asked.

“No, nothing is wrong, signore. I am Monsignor Delavan and this is my aide, brother Petr. We're here on a mission for the Holy Father and we require your assistance.”

Claudio eyed the pair skeptically. The gray-haired Monsignor carried an attaché case with his left hand. He was tall enough to look down on the secular world past a long straight nose, but the firm expression was betrayed by a touch of softness around his middle. Brother Petr was much younger, with dark hair and a slight build, but he carried an intensity that made him seem larger. His clothing was secular, but plain enough that he might have been taken for Amish. He was towing a wheeled suitcase that made Claudio wonder if the pair had come directly from the airport.

“Can't this be done in the morning? Why disturb an old man who needs his sleep?”

“I apologize for the late hour signore, but it's a matter of grave importance,” Monsignor Delavan declared officiously. “And it’s most confidential. There is a holy relic at the Duomo that is needed in Rome. We’ve come to collect it.”

“I don't think I can help you,” Claudio replied suspiciously. “You can't just remove a relic without the consent of the bishop.”

“Please reconsider, signore, the relic will be safely returned in a few weeks’ time. Here is our credential.”

Petr unfolded an official looking paper with the seal of Opus Dei in the letterhead and the signature of Cardinal Febrizi below.

“I see,” Claudio said in a more deferential tone. “I have always had great respect for the Work.”

As a devout Catholic, Claudio was well aware of Opus Dei. As an older man who felt left behind by the modern world, he was sympathetic to their cause. Founded in 1928 by a Catholic priest, the organization seeks to implement Christian ideals in both their personal lives and society in general. The organization was formally approved by Pope Pius XII in 1950. Pope John Paul II made Opus Dei a personal prelature in 1982, meaning that its members are under the direct governance of the Vatican rather than the diocesan authority of their local bishop. Over time, Opus Dei has come to refer to their mission simply as ‘the Work’.

Gaining access to the shrine above the apse took considerable time, especially as Claudio was not allowed to enlist the help of his staff. Petr fetched a venerable wooden extension ladder from a storage area and Claudio helped him place it against a stone column behind the altar. The improbably long ladder barely reached the base of the great dome that arched overhead. Claudio pointed to the red light halfway up the dome that marked the location of the shrine and motioned for the young aide to make the precarious climb. A shaky ladder and the tiny catwalk that led up the inside of the dome were too risky for a dignified older man with bad knees.

Claudio watched anxiously as Petr opened the shrine and removed the holy relic. Handling such an object seemed almost sacrilegious. He wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Monsignor Delavan gasped when the ladder shifted on the smooth marble floor during the descent. Petr swayed, clutching one-handed at the ladder while keeping firm hold of the relic with the other. Claudio’s attention had wandered from his duty of bracing the wobbly ladder, but he tightened his grip and quickly brought it back under control. Once safely down, Petr held the relic up in triumph, allowing the other two men to admire it for a moment.

Monsignor Delavan pulled a key from his pocket and opened the attaché case. Claudio was surprised to see that a thin metal cable secured the hard-shell case to a cuff on Delavan’s wrist. The interior was lined with foam like that used to protect expensive photographic equipment. There were three rows of narrow slots, each cut out to conform to the shape of the holy relic. Most of the slots were already filled, indicating that the cathedral of Milan wasn’t their first stop. Petr wrapped the relic in a fine silk cloth and lovingly put it in its temporary home. Claudio made the sign of the cross as Delevan closed and relocked the case.

The three men exited the cathedral just as the first streaks of dawn colored the morning sky. The only evidence of their visit was a small smear of blood that Petr left on a sharp splinter of the ladder.

“Many thanks, signore,” Monsignor Delavan shook Claudio’s hand solemnly. “I cannot share details, but know that you have played an important part in a most urgent mission. One day the Holy Father may acknowledge your contribution. But until then, not a word to anyone!”

“Of course, Monsignor, I understand perfectly. May we share an espresso?” Claudio offered proudly. “I know a little place nearby that opens early.”

“Grazie no, our time grows short,” Petr said cryptically. “The Monsignor must be in America tomorrow.”

There was no need for Claudio to know the details of the greater plan, and certainly no need to tell him that the Pope was entirely unaware of their mission.

“The religious gentlemen are waiting in the outer office, sir. They say it’s urgent, something to do with your collection.”

“I suppose they want me to return some national treasure, or maybe to shake me down to avoid returning it. Very well, Miss Landon, show them in.”

Marcus Garvey received visitors in a spacious office on the 60th floor of the Garvey Building. It had an exterior wall of windows that provided a panoramic view of the city of Atlanta. Shelves of religious artifacts lined the interior walls and glass display cases covered much of the floor. Most of the objects were drab and utilitarian, but some were extraordinarily beautiful. Garvey was seated behind a polished desk at the far end of the rectangular room. He didn’t extend the courtesy of rising to greet his guests.

The sixty-something businessman was used to receiving deference, not giving it. His haircut cost more than his secretary’s entire outfit. The upswept white mane was carefully styled to make him seem taller than his merely average height. The effect was further enhanced by high-heeled alligator boots that had never touched a stirrup. A sunlamp tan, expensive suit, and a heavy gold pinky ring completed the look of power and prestige.

Unlike most visitors to the imposing office, Monsignor Delavan ignored the artifacts and strode straight to Garvey’s desk. He slumped wearily into a chair without waiting for an invitation. Delavan’s clothes looked like they’d been slept in. Petr sat down next to him. The billionaire collector was annoyed by the priest’s direct approach. The museum-like display was not only a matter of pride, it was also intended to awe visitors and put them in a deferential frame of mind. Delavan, however, offered no preamble or introduction.

“What do you know about Opus Dei, Mr. Garvey?”

“I know it’s a secret cult that does the Pope's dirty work,” Garvey said bluntly, putting Delavan on the defensive.

“That is an unfortunate misconception, spread by the ignorant. We are an organization of the faithful, united in a common purpose. We are priests, religious, and lay people who openly seek the reign of God. We believe that God has no hands but ours, that Divine plans are implemented by human means. Opus Dei is Latin for ‘Work of God’, and that is exactly what we do, no more and no less.”

“And it’s purely coincidental if that work brings wealth and power to you and your master in Rome?”

“Distrust of your mother church is troubling, Mr. Garvey, but I'd like to believe that your values are consistent with our goals.”

“Your church, not mine,” Garvey glared. “I belong to a biblical church. We believe in fundamental truths.”

“Come now, Mr. Garvey, the Catholic Church decided which books to include in the bible, designed the Sunday liturgy, and has preserved the Christian tradition for more than two thousand years. You must realize that all protestant sects define themselves only by those tenets of the true faith that they refuse to accept?”

Garvey reddened, but Petr held up his hands in an attempt to defuse the increasingly heated exchange.
“Pardon my impertinence Monsignor, perhaps this could be discussed another time. Mr. Garvey, we have great respect for your faith and your efforts to reform your troubled country.”

"Petr is correct, sir, please forgive me," the Monsignor said stiffly. "The strain of travel makes me impatient and less gracious than I intend. Let me come directly to the point. I am here to enlist your help in a most important project. Perhaps the most important project of the present age."

“Do you know who I am?” Garvey demanded. He was tempted to toss the arrogant priest out on his ear but decided to hold his temper. He had a grudging respect for Opus Dei, their religious views being almost as conservative as his. But if they wanted his help, it would cost them.

“I know that you are a wealthy man,” Delavan replied. “I know that you own this building and that you have wide interests in oil, shipping, construction, and telecommunications. And I know that you have the largest collection of religious artifacts in the world. I’m here to offer you a unique opportunity to add to that collection.”

“Alright then, let’s get down to business,” Garvey replied, somewhat mollified. “What do you want and what’s in it for me?”

“You know, of course, that the great cathedrals house holy relics within their walls,” Delavan explained. “Spiritual objects, even the bones of a saint. Relics of the true cross are held especially sacred.”

“Yes, but there’s a question of provenance," Garvey interrupted. "You could build an entire house if all the fragments of the 'true’ cross were gathered together.”

Garvey smiled to himself, thinking that he’d scored a point. He already had a piece of the true cross that he suspected was a fake.

And one could compare your protestant sects to those fragments of the true cross, Delavan thought, but decided to hold his tongue. Theology lessons would have to be put aside until their business was concluded.

“You’re correct, Mr. Garvey, but we have something different in mind. Petr and I have gathered the nails that were used for the crucifixion. We wish to have them analyzed.”

“Again, the problem is provenance. I know of more than thirty ‘true’ nails. Do the math, gentlemen, how many can be authentic?”

“Some are not authentic, of course. But we've identified twenty-three nails that are consistent with the Roman era. Now we wish to examine them for traces of DNA."

"Is that even possible?" Garvey was intrigued.

"There is currently a scientific project underway to analyze DNA from Beethoven’s hair. Why not do the same with the blood from the holy nails?”

"But what would it prove? You've nothing to compare it with."

"We will compare them with each other, Mr. Garvey. And the three nails that match will be confirmed as authentic relics."

“Of course!” Garvey was quick to understand. “But why do you say three? Isn’t it supposed to be four nails?”

“Very good, you’re familiar with the Triclavian controversy,” Delavan nodded approvingly. “The dispute over whether both feet were nailed up together or with one nail in each foot. If we find four nails that match, then we can settle that old argument. But it hardly matters today, three are sufficient for our purposes.”

“Fair enough, but why come to me? DNA testing is easily done and widely available.”

"You have vast resources, Mr. Garvey, and you can maintain complete discretion. It can never be known that the relics have been disturbed or that any have been proven false. The faithful are entitled to their belief. And, in exchange for your assistance, you may retain one of the authentic nails."

With sudden realization, Garvey’s eyes dropped to the attaché case in the priest’s lap and the cable that secured it to his wrist.

“You actually have them with you?” he asked eagerly. “May I see them? Please, I must see the nails!”

All rancor disappeared from Garvey’s demeanor as his collector’s instincts took over.

Delavan opened the case and unwrapped the nail they’d taken from the Duomo di Milano. He held it up for Garvey to see, but didn’t relinquish it. The heavy iron spike was rectangular in cross section and almost eight inches long. It was as thick as the Monsignor’s pinky finger at the head and tapered slowly to its still-sharp point. The surface was dull and pitted with age but largely intact, still showing hints of the ironsmith’s hammer. Garvey couldn’t tell if it was stained with blood, but the thought left him deeply moved. Authentic or not, he could feel the spiritual aura imbued by twenty centuries of reverence.

“This is truly amazing,” murmured an awestruck Garvey.

“The Monsignor is a man of exceptional vision,” Petr agreed.

Delavan lifted a hand and smiled with a show of false modesty, proudly basking in the glow of their admiration for a moment.

“The holy nails will never be out of my sight until our mission is complete,” he suddenly declared, breaking the solemn mood. “It is imperative that all of the nails be returned safely to those who have always held them sacred.”

“Except for mine, of course,” Garvey said greedily.

“Yes, except for yours. Creating an exact replica to take its place is another task that you will undertake in secret.”

“Yes, yes, that’s easily done.”

Garvey had already made up his mind to do anything necessary to seal the deal. Acquiring an authentic nail from the crucifixion would be the greatest achievement of his life. He watched Delavan return the nail to the case and tried to calm his mind.

"So, you want me to have the nails secretly tested and verified?"

"Yes, but we want far more than verification. As you know, the world has become a wicked and sinful place. Something must be done, and God has no hands but ours. It is time for the second coming and, with your help, Opus Dei will bring it about. In short, Mr. Garvey, we intend to clone the Messiah.”

“I don't like being associated with Garvey,” Dr. Rebecca Merrill said. “He's a right-wing bigot and he has no respect for women. You know that he’s contributed millions to the right-to-life movement.”

“I know, Becks, but he might be legit about funding us. After all, our artificial womb would make it possible for women to end a pregnancy and still save the fetus. And he has a lot of political pull. That could help us get approval for human testing. Besides that, he bought up all our outstanding shares. He owns a majority stake now, so we don't have much choice. We’ll give him a tour of the lab and see what he wants.”

Rob and Rebecca were waiting in the lobby of their small biotech company in Seattle. Striking pictures of cats, dogs, and horses decorated the walls. Close-ups of truly unique specimens were interspersed with scenes of happy children romping in the grass with beloved pets. Slick brochures were spread on a low table between comfortable armchairs where they often met with clients. Neither of the principal partners was happy about their new investor, but there was little use worrying until they found out why he was so interested in their technology.

The pair had met and bonded while walking their own dogs. Rebecca was habitually up early during her residency, and Rob was usually up late after long sessions of writing his master’s thesis in Electrical Engineering. Nodding politely in the predawn light had soon become friendship and eventually something more.

Petite Rebecca, whose moon-shaped glasses disguised a pretty face, found herself unexpectedly attracted to the lanky nerd who showed real interest in her biomedical research plans. Shy Rob, who hadn’t ever dated seriously, discovered that it was amazingly easy to talk with ‘Becks’. Their personal relationship had blossomed and morphed into a successful tech startup.

"Welcome to Petgenic, Mr. Garvey, it's good to meet someone with such strong interest in our company. I'm Rob Jackson, president and lead engineer. This is Rebecca Merrill, chief scientist. She plays matchmaker for the gametes and tends the embryos while they’re in the oven. Can I offer you some coffee?”

“I’m not here for small talk, Mr. Jackson. My time is valuable.”

“Alright then, let us show you around the facility, I think you'll be impressed."

Rob pointed to a door to the left of the reception desk, and they entered a corridor with several cipher-lock doors on either side. Glass windows allowed a view of each room as they passed.

“This is a fairly standard lab where DNA samples are isolated, amplified, and cultured. We won’t go in just now because it’s a level 9 clean room. It’s not quite up to semiconductor standards, but it keeps the glassware free of dust.”

Rob tried a smile, but Garvey didn’t seem to have a sense of humor. The tour proceeded swiftly, with Garvey showing little interest in the details of cloning pets for wealthy clients. He barely even glanced at Rebecca’s state of the art equipment for inserting DNA into egg cells. The trio crossed through a shipping and receiving area at the rear of the building and turned back toward the lobby along another corridor with more cyber-lock doors.

“This is where conventional implantations are brought to term for natural birth,” Rebecca indicated a room that looked much like any pet boarding kennel.

Garvey looked bored and moved on without responding.

“And this is our artificial womb lab,” Rob announced proudly, pointing out a room filled with tanks and humming pumps.

“How does it work?” Garvey’s eyes widened as he finally showed real interest.

“The tanks are nothing special, just vats of amniotic fluid. But what’s inside is key, and it’s all due to Dr. Merrill’s genius. She’s grown a cellular substrate on a fine nylon mesh that acts as an artificial placenta. It has blood vessels that provide nutrients to the embryo and carry away waste. It allows the embryo to grow and develop just as it would in a natural womb.”

Garvey listened expectantly, hanging on every word.

“Of course, a womb doesn’t exist in isolation,” Rob continued. “The devices you see next to the tanks are modified kidney dialysis machines. We designed an interface to the blood vessels of the placenta, added the capability to infuse oxygen and nutrients into the return lines, and voila!”

“And the baby just floats around in the tank?”

“Not exactly. The artificial placenta is actually shaped like a small hammock to provide physical support. And we designed a sonic transducer that mimics a maternal heartbeat to provide emotional support. That was another one of Dr. Merrill’s good ideas.”

Rebecca smiled, pleased with Rob’s praise, but Garvey ignored her and addressed himself to Rob again.

“Have you been successful?”

“We’re not quite ready for commercial production, but the short answer is yes. Here, take a look at our latest test results.”

Rob moved on to another kennel room with a lively tangle of identical puppies being fed by an intern.

“We’re a one-stop shop if you’re interested in cloning a favorite pet or rare animal,” Rebecca offered, pointing at an Egyptian Mau cat with a uniquely spotted coat.

“I don’t get maudlin over pets, Dr. Merrill, I’m interested in something larger and far more significant.”

"So, you've heard the rumors about this year's triple crown winner,” Rob grinned, thinking that he was finally onto Garvey. “Well, if you want specifics, I can't even confirm that we have an NDA with the stable. But we do have a track record with cloning large animals, if you catch my drift.”

Marcus Garvey merely looked impatient.

“A horse would make a convenient cover story, Jackson, but I’m not interested in animals at all. I want you to clone a person.”

"We can't, Mr. Garvey," Rob shook his head emphatically. "Even if we could, it's not legal or ethical."

“I think you can and I'm sure you will,” Garvey stated flatly. “It can’t be done openly, of course. But you are in a unique position to maintain secrecy. As Dr. Merrill said, you’re a one-stop shop. You can create a cloned embryo and bring it to term in your artificial womb. There will be no mother, no father, and no gynecologist involved. Your machine will birth the baby and you will deliver him to the adoptive parents as directed.”

“And if we refuse?”

“I'm a very wealthy man, Jackson. I can easily afford to fund your research, or I can shut you down and write you off on next year’s taxes. It wouldn't make a blip in my finances either way, if you catch my drift.”

Rob looked at Rebecca’s worried face and shrugged in defeat.

“Who do you want to clone?”

“Have you heard of an organization called Opus Dei?”

Monsignor Delavan often warned Petr against the excesses of the modern world, but that didn’t prevent him from enjoying all the comforts of room service at Garvey’s luxury hotel. Nor did he object when a private limousine appeared to take them to Petgenic. The benefits of wealth were tempting, and most tempting of all was the ability to get things done. Delavan was amazed at the whirlwind of activity set off by his interview with the billionaire. In less than a week, Garvey had found a cloning facility, bought a controlling interest, and then flown them to Seattle in his private jet. And, in a few hours’ time, their project to redeem the world would be underway.

Delevan declined a tour, insisting that they start immediately, so Rob asked Rebecca to show them to the DNA lab. He pulled Garvey aside for a private word after the introductions were made. He found the zealous manner of the men from Opus Dei disturbing and he was worried about unrealistic expectations.

“The results depend on the source, Mr. Garvey. Even if your relics are authentic, it may not be possible to obtain viable DNA from a 2000-year old artifact,” Rob cautioned Garvey.

“Have faith, Jackson. God works in mysterious ways. I’m sure you’ll be successful. And keep your doubts to yourself, there’s a lot riding on this and there’s no need to worry the Monsignor. He’s paranoid enough about keeping all this secret.”

Once in the lab, Delavan insisted that the security cameras be turned off and the window blinds pulled down before opening the case. Rob had his equipment ready, but the priest suddenly seemed reluctant.

“I expect you to handle these objects with care, Mr. Jackson, they are sacred relics with deep meaning to the faithful.”

“I understand Monsignor, we’ll treat them with respect, but it is necessary to handle them. Collecting the samples will take about three hours. The DNA analysis will require several days. We’ll contact Mr. Garvey when we have the results,” Rob promised.

“Everything must be done with the utmost care and secrecy.” Delavan reiterated. “Speed is desired, but we cannot risk compromising the results. Let us begin.”

Rob was more amused than annoyed at the behavior of the priest and his aide. Monsignor Delavan allowed only one nail to be removed from the attaché case at a time. Petr watched like a hawk as each was thoroughly swabbed, photographed and given a code number. It was actually a double code. Rob would identify his results with the slot numbers from the attaché case. They would all know which slots held authentic nails. But Delavan had another number that linked each slot to the location where its nail had been collected. Only Opus Dei would know which were the authentic relics.

"The womb is prepped, Rob, and I'm ready to create the embryo. All I need now is the DNA.”

Rob was looking distractedly into the distance and didn’t answer right away.

“Rob, what’s wrong, I thought you said you had the DNA?"

“The DNA is wrong, Becks. I’m not sure what’s going on, but something is definitely off.”

“What do you mean, how can DNA be wrong?”

Rob looked at his partner and shook his head.

“You know me, Becks, always the skeptic. I went through all the samples and found trace organics on twenty, but no recoverable DNA. Three of them, though, have a ton of DNA. It made me suspicious, so I did some more tests. The bloodstains are fresh, like this month fresh. I should have left well enough alone. Now we have a problem.”

“Oh my God, did Garvey contaminate the nails? Is he egotistical enough to clone himself?”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s determined to get results and he’s not exactly scrupulous. It could also be Delavan. Maybe he regrets his celibacy and wants to spread his genes.”

“We could still back out, Rob. And it’s not just the legality that bothers me. What about the baby? What will happen to him when they realize that he isn’t their Messiah?”

“I don’t know, Becks, but I can’t see them harming a child. If we don’t do it, then they’ll just find another lab and use a surrogate mother. And Garvey will shut us down out of spite.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to keep quiet and go ahead with the project. I don’t care who it was or what they're playing at. I don’t give a damn about their crazy religion or their silly relics. I just want to save our company. What we’re doing here could actually be important."

“The Gospel of the Second Coming will soon be written, Petr,” Monsignor Delavan said smugly. “And, who knows? I may write it myself should God grant me a few more years.”

“The Gospel of the Second Coming will soon be written, Petr,” Monsignor Delavan said smugly. “And, who knows? I may write it myself should God grant me a few more years.”

“You are truly a man of great vision,” his aide replied. “History will long remember what you have done here.”

The two men were approaching a small farm in the north of Italy where Delavan had placed the baby. He’d learned of Giuseppe and Giulia Renzini from his cousin Carla. She sighed over the plight of her middle-aged friends who hadn’t been blessed with children and often asked Delavan to pray for them. Carla was thrilled when he had asked if they would consider adopting.

“Look at those mountains,” Delavan gestured at the Dolomites as they entered the Renzini’s yard. “And the beautiful fields. Clean air, sunshine, and the rewards of honest labor. Perfect soil to nurture a new beginning.”

He gingerly pushed away a friendly collie who welcomed them with joyous barks. Rural life also meant the inconvenience of dog hair and muddy paw prints on his cassock, but he could endure it once a year.

“Scusi, Monsignor, Beni loves to welcome visitors. In fact, his name is short for benvenuto,” Giuseppe enthused from the doorway. “Come in, come in, we’ve been looking forward to your visit! You must have coffee and a slice of Giulia’s Panettone. It’s the best in the entire valley!”

Giulia nodded shyly to their eminent guests and led the way to a table that was prepared and waiting. Delavan was impatient, but the steaming coffee and excellent cake held his attention for a few minutes. He made shorter work of the social pleasantries than the cake and asked to see the boy.

“You say Nicolas doesn’t cry?”

“No, Monsignor, he calls out when hungry or when his diaper needs attention, but otherwise he’s always calm and patient,” Giulia replied. “He’s already walking at only a year old. And he’s so alert. See how he looks at us as we talk, it’s as if he really understands.”

Monsignor Delavan gazed down at the baby in the simple crib, fascinated by the boy’s unusually mature demeanor. He felt an unfamiliar sense of affection and responsibility.

This must be what a father feels, he thought proudly.

There was no doubt in the priest’s mind that they’d achieved their goal. The child was obviously special. He smiled fondly when the Renzinis thanked him profusely for their miracle baby.

“This can’t be the same boy,” Monsignor Delavan said in disbelief. “He appears to be at least five years old. Have they adopted another child?”

He and Petr paused on the walkway in front of the Renzini’s door and watched as the sturdy young Nico took careful aim and loosed a stone from his slingshot at a bird’s nest.

Petr knocked at the heavy wooden door and Delavan suddenly wondered why they hadn’t been greeted by the boisterous collie.

“Benvenuto, Monsignor,” Giuseppe said and ushered them in.

“Grazie, it seems quieter here than usual.”

Giuseppe’s face fell.

“Beni was injured last spring and had to be put down.”

“I’m sorry, signori,” Delevan said politely. “Nico must have been very sad.”

“Nico doesn’t want a pet,” Giuseppe shrugged.

“Well, we’re here to check on his progress. I can’t believe how he’s grown.”

“Nico is truly a wonder, Monsignor,” said Giulia. “I can’t keep up with him. He’s growing and learning far beyond his age.”

She looked tired and drawn.

“I do what I can, Monsignor, but I’m not a teacher. And how could we put a three-year old into primary school? He wouldn’t fit in. The neighborhood children already avoid Nico because he’s so big and strong. And he’s much cleverer than they are.”

Giulia beamed with a mother’s love, but Giuseppe frowned.

Nico truly is a miracle child, Delavan thought. We must make plans more quickly than expected.

“You are doing God’s work, Giulia. Know that the Vatican is grateful for your efforts. Please continue for now while we prepare for Nico’s future."

“Is Nico safe?”

“Yes, Monsignor, he wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t cheap but I smoothed things over with the local authorities. We’ll also have to pay for the repairs, of course. It’s lucky that the girl suffered only minor burns.”

“I’m worried, Petr, the bad behavior is escalating. There’s little doubt who killed those cats. And we can’t place him near Caranza again. All the town knows he set that fire.”

“He’s just a mischievous boy, Monsignor, he’ll grow out of it. We all did.”

“I wonder. Did you set fires, Petr? Or kill for pleasure? He must be taken in hand somehow, perhaps an institution with a structured environment,” Monsignor Delavan mused. “But even that might not suffice. How do you deal with a five-year old who is already entering puberty? And the danger will only increase as he grows stronger.”

Petr could sense that the Monsignor was working up his nerve to make a terrible decision.

“He’s extremely clever, Monsignor, he could begin advanced studies soon. I can make him my ward and take responsibility for his discipline.”

“No, Petr, the child shows no aptitude for spiritual life. He’s handsome, and charming when he wants to be, but there’s something wrong inside of him. I can feel it when I look in his eyes. He’s more than human, but malignant rather than sacred.”

Monsignor Delavan shook his head in disappointment.

“Nicolas was conceived without the sin of intercourse, using sacred DNA, and given a truly virgin birth. He was intended to be the second coming of the Messiah. But it’s gone terribly wrong, Petr. I’m afraid we’ve created a monster.”

He paused for a moment and then seemed to find his resolve.

“It’s a difficult choice, but something must be done. God forgive me, I'm going to have to take drastic action.”

“No, Monsignor, you can’t mean to harm the child.”

“Yes, Petr, I must. It’s my responsibility. It was wrong to think that we could act in the place of God. I have to stop him before he goes too far. Nicolaus must be undone.”

“Your responsibility? Don’t flatter yourself, you old fool. Who do you think really set all this in motion? Who brought the Beethoven project to your attention? Who suggested the possibility of finding blood on holy relics? Who forged Cardinal Febrizi’s signature? And who collected the nails for you? This was my plan all along and it will go forward!”

Petr advanced threateningly and grasped Delavan’s wrist.

“What’s the meaning of this? What are you saying?”

Monsignor Delavan felt indignant at the shocking familiarity. How dare Petr lay hands on his superior? He opened his mouth to protest, but Petr’s hand suddenly jumped to Delavan’s throat and closed off the older man’s windpipe. Caught unaware, his lungs were near empty. Delavan struggled weakly as his vision narrowed until only Petr’s face remained. There was something wrong with Petr’s eyes. Strange that he hadn't noticed it before.

“Neither conceived of man nor born of woman,” Petr intoned with zealous fervor. “A perfectly empty vessel for a new Messiah. You must realize, Monsignor, that Satan has no hands but ours.”

Petr tightened his crushing grip.

“And no one is going to crucify his son.”





Author's note: ▼

This story is fiction, but some of its elements are factual. I've visited the cathedral in Milan and gazed up into the dome at the shrine of the Holy Nail. The Beethoven project was described in a recent issue of Scientific American. Ancient plant DNA has been extracted from the interior of adobe brick. Cloning pets is a real thing. And an artificial womb is only slightly beyond current technology.

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