Judas the Apostle, page 19
“Whoever you are … and by the way, are you bold enough to tell me your name?”
“My name matters not,” the voice said. “In fact, I have had many names over the years. In some circles, I’m known by what I do. I collect things. What matters critically for you right now is what I want. Now you have certain things that I would have. I suggest that you bring them to me.”
Cloe heard a hard “k” sound when he said “collect,” such as might be heard in some of the former Soviet satellite countries. She marked this carefully as a clue to the man’s origin. Was this his first mistake? “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care what you want,” Cloe responded, continuing her deception.
Again the line was silent for a time. When the voice came back, the line crackled with urgency. “You will bring me the jar and the manuscript along with all your research. You will delete all files on the computer.”
“I don’t think I will,” said Cloe unwaveringly. “You are nothing … not even a name. All your games have failed. Your men have been killed and your equipment captured. At this point we’re unimpressed by anything but your greed.”
She looked up at J.E. and could see the respect and love in his eyes. She clutched J.E.’s hand and squeezed for all she was worth. “You are a toothless, wasted soul … a person who is to be pitied. I’m sorry for you but not afraid of you,” she continued. “Don’t contact us again,” she concluded with finality and moved to close the top of the phone.
But before she could do so, the man spoke again, and the words chilled her like nothing she could remember. She could finally understand the level of despair, the level of defeat, that the Gospels said had led Judas Iscariot to hang himself in despair at the foul deed he had done.
“Perhaps, before you ring off, you might like to say good-bye to someone,” the evil voice came back.
“What …?”
“Clotile?” The whispering voice was unmistakable. The connection snapped off.
PART 3
Lyon
And Judas the betrayer … he alone was acquainted with the truth as no others were, and so accomplished the mystery of the betrayal. By him all things, both earthly and heavenly, were thrown into dissolution. And they bring forth a fabricated work to this effect, which they entitle the Gospel of Judas.
—Irenaeus of Lyon, Detection and Overthrow of False Knowledge
CHAPTER 39
“Oh my God!” cried Cloe into the now-dead cell phone, which fell from her hand. “He has Uncle Sonny! J.E., what are we going to do?” she screamed.
“Let’s try to stay calm. I heard the voice. But in the last days and weeks, you’ve talked a lot more to Uncle Sonny than I have; could it have been someone else?”
“I’m positive. I’ve spoken to him almost every night since we’ve been back. That monster has taken Uncle Sonny.” Cloe sagged toward J.E., who grabbed her before she could fall and pulled her toward him. For Christ’s sake, she thought, Uncle Sonny is ninety years old.
“Mom, I swear to you I’ll get Uncle Sonny back safe and sound or die trying,” promised J.E. with hot tears of anger and frustration in his eyes. “Making Uncle Sonny a pawn in this thing is so over the top. I give you my word the day will come, and come soon, when this man will pay dearly for grabbing Uncle Sonny.”
Cloe saw that J.E. burned with rage and resolve. If the man’s intent had been to cow them into giving up and doing his will, he had fatally misunderstood the American value system and pride, particularly that of the Lejeune family. J.E.’s grandfather had fought this type of aggression on at least two continents. J.E. himself had fought it in Iraq.
Cloe could feel the emotions coursing through her son’s body as he comforted her. She recognized the anger and the determination—perhaps because these were almost exactly the same reactions she herself was having. She knew that they had to rein in this emotional response and be smart and deliberate in their plans. But they would get Uncle Sonny back in good shape, she had no doubt. If she had to give up the jar and her career, so be it. God help this collector of things when they got to him.
J.E. led his mother back to the lab table and seated her on one of the high-backed stools. Both J.E. and the monsignor also sat down to consider the situation. Though the monsignor had remained quiet up to now, his expression radiated concern and frustration.
“Mom,” J.E. said, looking his mother square in the eyes, “Uncle Sonny will be fine, and we will get through this.”
“J.E. … how much more of this do we have to endure?” Cloe had her head in her hands as she stared down at the table. “We’ve lost poor Father Al. My father has been murdered. I can’t lose Uncle Sonny too. I just can’t.”
“Then, Signorina, get to work and decipher the manuscript,” said the monsignor quietly, stunning both Cloe and J.E. with his apparent coldness and insensitivity.
“Monsignor …” started J.E., half-standing.
“I know this seems thoughtless, but consider that our adversary wants us unfocused and disoriented,” responded the priest, gesturing with open hands. “Our hope is in superior knowledge and tactics. J.E., your mother and I must provide the knowledge, and you must solve the tactical problems. We are reacting. We must think ahead and anticipate this man’s next moves. If we cannot clear our heads and do that quickly, your uncle is lost.” His hands crashed down on the lab table, and he was silent.
“Monsignor, are you saying that deciphering the manuscript might help us get Uncle Sonny back?” asked Cloe.
“The man knows or thinks he knows something important about the manuscript,” responded the monsignor. “Why else would he be so desperate to get it? We must find out what that is. If we can learn why he wants it so badly, this may help us defeat him and get your uncle Sonny back.”
“Yes, we need every advantage to beat this man,” said Cloe with resolve. She could see the monsignor told the truth and spoke from his heart. Once again the depth of the man came to her, and she knew he alone was thinking clearly.
J.E. pondered this for a minute or two. “Monsignor, you’re right. Not only that, but the man will call back. He didn’t take Uncle Sonny without good reason. He won’t hurt him yet. There will be a proposal … a bargain of some sort. The question is what will be given and what will be received. We need to be ready for the negotiation.”
“I’m not sure we can handle this alone,” said Cloe. “We need to call our friends at the campus police or the sheriff’s department. In fact, kidnapping is a federal crime. We need the FBI and help with an international reach.”
“I may agree with you, but we should wait a few minutes to see if he calls back,” replied J.E. “We should learn as much as we can, whether we go to the police and ask them to call in the FBI or not.”
“All right, but this man is well informed, has tremendous resources, and is single-minded about his objective. What do we know that can help us?” asked Cloe.
“I have been working with Mike tonight. I managed to trace the tail number on the jet, but it leads to an Isle of Man corporation owned by certain trusts formed in the Cayman Islands. In other words, it’s a dead-end trail as to who owns the plane.”
“Anything else?” Cloe was impressed by the information, but it gave them nothing more to go on.
“Yes, there is,” J.E. said. “This same jet had a problem over the Atlantic a few days ago. Reporting an oxygen-system problem, the plane’s crew requested permission to descend to a level where a repair could be made. The course of the airplane caught my eye, and I matched it to a military report of a body being found on a small offshore island. Parts of the body were badly damaged by crabs and other scavengers, but the military pathologists believe that the cause of death was massive internal damage consistent with a fall. The dead man was dressed all in black, and he was armed. Because he landed face down in the sand, scavengers could not get at his face. According to the autopsy report, he had very peculiar eyes, at least what was left of them. The body has been tentatively identified as that of an Armenian mercenary with a long history of criminal activity.”
“Once again the Armenian connection,” said the monsignor. “Could this be an example of the wages paid to those who fail the man behind all this?”
The ruthlessness of their adversary sank in as all considered the monsignor’s words.
“I think you’re right … it all fits,” said J.E. “And I did find out where the plane ended up. It landed in Jerusalem.”
“Jerusalem,” whispered the monsignor. “There have been rumors over the years of a person who collects rare objects who is based in Jerusalem. Could it be? It is said that he is dead.”
“The other thing I learned in my work is that we do, more than likely, have a rat in our little group,” said J.E. “I came in earlier to tell you about this, but you were in the middle of a discussion, and then we were interrupted by the phone call. I looked at everyone’s financial situation on the computer. Banking records are nothing for Mike to crack—although I’m sure we will soon have the Secret Service or FBI nosing around to find out what we have been up to.”
“What did you find?” asked Cloe.
“Everyone was clean—nothing out of order—until I got into Dean Broussard’s bank records. He is heavily in debt and living well beyond his means, and in the last few weeks, he has been receiving wire transfers from an offshore bank in the amount of fifty thousand dollars per week.”
“Dean Broussard … my God,” said Cloe. “A traitor. We should let the chief know and have him arrested right away—tonight.”
“Perhaps, Signorina … but isn’t it valuable that we know and that he does not know that we know?” asked the monsignor.
“Monsignor, I’m beginning to like the way you think,” responded J.E. “If we are to beat this SOB on the phone and get Uncle Sonny back, we have to be very smart and very careful. To the extent we can feed false information through Dean Broussard, we may confuse the enemy.”
“Quite so, young sir … what is your battle plan?”
“The plan is simple. First, Mom deciphers as much of the Lejeune Manuscript as she can so we know whether there’s something in there that can help us. We need to know why the man wants it so badly.”
“Yes, if we can learn why he wants it, we may be able to anticipate some of his moves,” replied the monsignor.
J.E. continued, “We feed false information to Dean Broussard so our enemy does not quite know what we are doing. Monsignor, you and I figure out where Uncle Sonny is, and we go get him. Beyond that we improvise.”
“A sound plan,” said the monsignor. “The papal jet will be at our service, as will be the Swiss Guards. This is no longer a purely scientific exercise but rather has become a rescue mission. All else beyond getting your uncle back safely is secondary.”
“Thank you, Monsignor,” said Cloe. “If God gives me the strength and wisdom, I shall find something in the manuscript to help us.” Her own feelings surprised her.
“Then, indeed, it is in God’s hands,” concluded the monsignor.
CHAPTER 40
Cloe focused on the beginning and the end of the Lejeune Manuscript given that some of the interior of the text was damaged by smearing, and it would take scientists a long time to sort that out. They needed to know how closely this manuscript, particularly at the beginning, tracked the Coptic version.
Three hours later, she called J.E. at the hotel. “I need you and the monsignor to come to the lab,” she said. She sat back, rubbed her eyes, and checked once again what she had written. She had come to a point where she had some translated language, but without context she could make no sense of it.
Despite the late hour, J.E. and the monsignor were not asleep when she called; they had been discussing various strategies and alternatives. The monsignor’s driver dropped them off at the lab within minutes.
When all were seated in the meeting room next to the lab, Cloe began. “I have been working on the part of the Judas Gospel known as the ‘Introduction.’ In the Coptic version this part lays out the idea that the Judas Gospel is largely a dialogue between Judas and Jesus in the eight days before Jesus and the Apostles celebrated the Passover. It even suggests that this is a ‘secret account’ of those events.” She looked at each of them and saw that they were with her.
“Yes, some scholars say the language translates as the ‘secret declaration,’” replied the monsignor, on the edge of his chair.
“That’s not the important part, if I’m correct,” said Cloe. “The fact is the Greek version, our version, contains different and, perhaps, additional language not found in the later Coptic text. But I’m having trouble making any sense of it.” She shrugged her shoulders as if throwing off some weight.
“What is it, Mom?” asked J.E. He too sensed that they were on the verge of some sort of epiphany.
“Well, our manuscript seems to open with a statement that says something to this effect: ‘What is written here is written with the words of a dead man. A man dead in body and condemned in spirit by all. It is all written on the authority of the man of Lugdunum to address the injustice.’
“I’m not sure about a couple of places. The prepositions are difficult. ‘Written in’ or ‘written through the words of a dead man’ also would work. What’s more, the ‘man of Lugdunum’ could be the ‘one’ of or from Lugdunum.”
“Hmm,” the monsignor said, clearly pondering the information. “Signorina, you realize that no human has seen these words for almost two thousand years. Except for collateral information we have from early writers such as Irenaeus, we know very little … Irenaeus—that’s it!” he almost shouted in triumph. The monsignor stood and began to pace back and forth.
“What, Monsignor?” asked J.E. intensely.
“Irenaeus was the bishop of Lyon, France. He is the very heresy hunter we have talked about before. His book Against Heresies was published in AD 180, and it makes reference to the Gospel of Judas—but not with the vehemence of condemnation we would expect if that Gospel had contained the Gnostic concepts that the Coptic text contains. The Coptic text was written about two hundred years after Irenaeus’s work, and therefore he could not have known about it. He must have been familiar with the earlier Greek text that we have.”
“Okay, but we have discussed this before … what does that have to do with this new passage that Mom has translated?” queried J.E.
“Just this … Lugdunum was the name of a place in Gaul when it was part of the Roman Empire,” said the monsignor.
“Gaul became France,” added Cloe, beginning to understand where the monsignor might be going.
“Yes, and Lugdunum became Lyon … Lyon, France. Irenaeus was the second bishop of Lyon,” replied the monsignor. “His church in Lyon was originally the Church of St. John but later was renamed in his honor the Eglise St-Irénée, or the Church of St. Irenaeus.”
There it was, thought Cloe. They just had to understand what it meant.
The room became very quiet and seemed to shrink in size as the players pondered the intuitive jumps they were making. The consequences were almost too enormous to consider. J.E. was the first to break the silence. “Okay, we need a working theory here. We need a hypothesis that we can build on. It’s just too much of a coincidence that our heresy hunter, Irenaeus, who wrote about the Gospel of Judas but who could only have known about our Greek version, may be referenced in that very Greek manuscript. This can’t be random.”
“Can we be sure the ‘one from Lugdunum’ refers to Irenaeus? Couldn’t it have been someone else?” Cloe asked.
“If we look at the context—the ‘one’ from Lyon, a person in authority under which the Greek text was written—I don’t see who else it could have been during this period of time,” said the monsignor. “The Romans were largely content to let the locals govern, although under their supervision, and they allowed the indigenous populations to maintain their own religious practices as long as they did not attempt to export them to too great an extent. So I think we can be confident that the ‘one’ was not a Roman.”
“If Irenaeus was the ‘one,’ that might explain why his criticism of the Greek version of the Judas Gospel was so mild. But if he was responsible for it, why did he criticize it at all?” mused Cloe.
“Mom … you have heard of ‘damning by faint praise,’” stated J.E. with a bit of a lilt in his voice. “I think what we are witnessing is the first recorded incident of ‘praising by faint damnation.’”
“The young sir is correct as usual,” the monsignor said. “Irenaeus could not have completely omitted reference to this Greek text, which, we must assume, was in circulation, without raising issues of his own credibility and perhaps causing people to suspect that he was behind it. The world of people who could read and who had access to books was still not that large.”
“All right, our working hypothesis is that the ‘one’ in the introduction to the Greek version was Irenaeus, the bishop of Lyon,” summarized J.E. “If true, this means that the Greek manuscript of the Gospel of Judas, the one from our jar, was written under the authority of a Christian bishop, a known enemy of all heresy. I mean, I’m not much into this stuff, but this amazes even me.”
“This is groundbreaking information if we are interpreting the text references correctly and if everything is authentic,” agreed the monsignor.
Cloe thought about the rest of the new language in the Introduction. It was somehow all of a whole cloth. “What does it mean to ‘address the injustice’? The language says it was all written to address the injustice. What injustice? Could this refer to what happened to Judas?”
