A NOTE ABOUT THE SAMPLE SCENES I have endeavored to select scenes which give a flavor of the book but which (with the exception of the first scene below) DO NOT reveal too much about the plot. For that reason, you may find yourself wondering what certain scenes have to do with the story . . . If so, I've done my job. These scenes are copyrighted; reproduction outside of this venue is prohibited.

Book One:
In His Image

The following is taken from Chapters 3 and 4 of In His Image -- Book One of The Christ Clone Trilogy

Los Angeles, California

Harry Goodman met Decker at the Los Angeles airport. Once they reached his car, Goodman wasted no time getting to the subject at hand. "You remember, no doubt," Goodman said, "the effect it had on me when we discovered the minute particles of dirt in the heel area of the Shroud image." Goodman presumed too much-ten years had passed since Turin-but Decker politely nodded his recollection. "It made no sense," Goodman continued. "No medieval forger would have gone to the trouble of rubbing dirt into the Shroud unless it could be seen by the naked eye. It was then that I began to question my assumption that the Shroud was a forgery."

Decker shook his head, certain he must have misunderstood. Could Goodman really be suggesting he thought the Shroud was real?

"You, of course, recall that some of the most conclusive work on the Shroud was done by Dr. John Heller using the samples gathered on the strips of Mylar tape." Decker did recall. Heller and Dr. Allan Adler had proven that the stains were human blood and had also determined that the images were the result of oxidation.⁽¹⁾

"Yeah," Decker replied. "But how can any of that matter now that we know the Shroud's not old enough to be authentic?"

"I wanted to examine the tape samples taken from the heel and foot area more closely," Goodman continued, ignoring Decker's question, "so I arranged to have the samples sent here. You will recall that the samples were placed in a specially built case, and they took great care to guarantee that no foreign materials got onto the samples. Each sample was cataloged by where it had come from on the Shroud and then the case was sealed hermetically for shipping. Unfortunately, that was like closing the gate after the horses have already gone.

"In Turin, I personally counted more than a dozen different contaminated articles that came in contact with the Shroud. At least two team members and three priests kissed it. As far as kissing and touching the thing, it seems that's been going on for as long as it's been around. And don't forget the rust stains from those old thumbtacks. Even our procedures to prevent contamination introduced some contaminants. The cotton gloves we wore surely carried American pollen that, no doubt, got onto the Shroud material. And while we're talking about other materials, let's not forget the plywood, or the backing material, or the red silk covering.

"The point of all this is that the tape samples picked up all sorts of garbage that had nothing to do with the origin of the Shroud or the creation of the image. In his published report on the Shroud, Dr. Heller noted finding both natural and synthetic fibers, fly ash, animal hairs, insect parts, beeswax from church candles, and a couple of dozen other assorted materials, not to mention spores and pollen.⁽²⁾ Because of all this clutter, Heller decided that most of his examination should employ levels of magnification just powerful enough to examine substances that could have been used to create a visible image and to ignore the smaller, irrelevant materials.

"For his purposes, Heller did exactly what he should have done, but his procedures would have missed the kind of evidence I was looking for. That's why I decided to have a second look. I was interested in what might ordinarily have been missed among all the microscopic clutter.

"I believe that what I found will explain the whole Shroud mystery." Goodman paused. "But there's more."

Decker waited but Goodman was silent. "Well, what is it?" Decker asked.

"Where's your sense of drama, Hawthorne?" asked Goodman. "You'll see, soon enough."

  * * *

At the university, Goodman drove to the William G. Young Science building on the east side of the UCLA campus and parked in the tenured faculty parking lot. His office was on the fourth floor and looked out over a courtyard westward toward the Engineering building. It was arranged very much the same as the office he'd had at UT, including the ragged but now framed "I think, therefore, I am. I think." poster and a laser-printed version of Goodman's First Law of Achievement. "Before we go any further," Goodman began, as they settled into his office, "I must confess that I have brought you here under slightly false pretenses." Decker didn't like the sound of that but he let Goodman continue. "What I am going to show you may not be revealed to anyone. At least not yet."

"Then why was it so important that I come out here right away?" Decker asked, both puzzled and a little perturbed at having been misled.

"Because," Goodman answered, "I need a witness. And the way I figure it, you owe me. You could have gotten me in a lot of trouble with my colleagues when you ran your story on the Turin project. The only reporter that was supposed to be there was Weaver from National Geographic. We weren't even supposed to talk to anyone from the press. And then a week after we got back, the whole world reads wire reports of a story in a Knoxville paper by some jerk reporter who managed to pass himself off as a member of the team. And that jerk reporter just happened to decide to pass himself off as my jerk assistant!

"I went through no end of scrutiny over that, but it could have been much worse. You could have cost me the trust of a lot of my professional colleagues. Fortunately you did make yourself useful while you were there and you made a good impression on the rest of the team members. But still, it might not have worked out so well. If anyone had thought that I knowingly helped a reporter get onto the team, I'd have been blackballed as a security risk on all kinds of future projects. So the way I figure it, you owe me, and you owe me big."

"Hey, I was just following Goodman's First Law of Achievement: 'The shortest distance between any two points is around the rules,'" Decker responded. But Goodman was right and Decker knew it. His conscience had always bothered him a little about the way he'd gotten onto the Shroud team. "Okay," he said at last, "it was a lousy thing to do. I do owe you. So what is it you want to show me that I can't tell anyone about?"

"You can tell anyone you like, but only when I say so. In fact, at the right time I'll want you to report it. Just not right away. Right now I need a witness and you know I can't stand most reporters. Truth is you're just barely tolerable," Goodman added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "I need someone I can trust to keep the story quiet until I'm ready to go public. You've covered the Shroud story from the beginning. People will believe you when you report what I'm going to show you, but if the story comes out too soon it could doom the whole project."

"But, Professor, if this is about some research you've done, why don't you just publish it yourself in a scholarly journal?"

"I will, of course, publish my work in detail later. But, well . . . I'm afraid I'll need to break the ice with the public before I reveal the exact nature of my research to my peers."

Decker frowned in confusion.

"It's just, I'm afraid I've applied a little of Goodman's First Law myself. There are those in the scientific community who, because of their narrow-mindedness, might condemn my methods. My hope is that once the benefits of my work are well known, public opinion will be too strong in my favor for my peers to condemn my methods. So, in exchange for confidentiality now, you get exclusivity later. As the story evolves you'll be the only reporter to have it. Certainly after you publish each part of the story, I'll have to talk to other press people, but I'll make sure you have the story a week or two before anyone else."

"What do you mean, 'as the story evolves'?" asked Decker.

"What I'm going to show you today is just the beginning. There will be several installments along the way before you report the overall story."

Decker still had no idea what Goodman had discovered, but he couldn't help but be interested.

"So it all comes down to five things," Goodman concluded. "First, I need a witness I can trust. Second, you owe me for Turin. Third, you've covered the Shroud story since the beginning. Fourth, if you provide me with confidentiality, I'll provide you with exclusivity."

"And fifth?" Decker asked.

"Fifth," Goodman answered, "is that if you report the story before I say to, I'll deny every word of it and you'll make a total fool of yourself. You'll never prove a thing."

"I thought you just said you thought that people would believe me."

"Yes, if I back you up and you back me up. But by yourself, and with my denial, they'll think you're crazy. Decker, I'm offering you the biggest exclusive of all time on the greatest discovery-scientific or otherwise-in the last five hundred years. But in some ways it's also the most bizarre."

"Okay," Decker said. "So let's hear it."

"Do we have a deal?" Goodman asked, extending his hand to seal the agreement.

"Sure," Decker said, leaning over the desk to shake Goodman's hand. "So what's this big scoop about the Shroud?"

Goodman leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips together, his elbows on the arm rests, and gazed off into space, apparently considering his words. "Consider the following hypothesis," Goodman began. "The image of the man on the Shroud of Turin is the result of a sudden burst of heat and light energy from the body of a crucified man as his body went through an instantaneous regeneration or 'resurrection,' if you will."

Decker's mouth dropped open. There was silence for a long moment and then he began to laugh. "You're kidding me, right? This is all payback for Turin, isn't it?"

"I assure you, I am entirely serious," Goodman responded as Decker's laughter continued.

"But this is ridiculous," Decker said as he stopped laughing and tried to read Goodman's face for any hint that despite his denial, he was, in fact, playing a practical joke. Finding none, he continued. "Professor, that's not a scientific hypothesis; that's a statement of faith. And since the Shroud isn't old enough to be the burial cloth of Christ, it's not even blind faith-it's ignorant faith."

"It is not a statement of faith at all! It's based on sound scientific fact and reasoning. There is a way to test my hypothesis and to prove it."

Decker's eyes squinted, revealing the puzzlement behind them. "Okay, I'll bite," he said reluctantly. "How can you prove it?"

"By way of explanation," Goodman answered, "let me ask you what you know about Francis Crick."

Decker was a little resistant to Goodman's unexplained change of subject but decided to allow his old professor some flexibility and not argue the point. "I know he won the Nobel Prize in medicine back in the early sixties-"

"Sixty-two," Goodman interrupted.

"--for his codiscovery with James Watson of the double helix structure of DNA. And I know he published a book several years back . . ." Decker struggled to remember the name of the book.

"It was called Life Itself,"⁽³⁾ Goodman said, finishing Decker's sentence.

"Yeah, that's it. Life Itself."

"Good!" Goodman said. "Then you're familiar with his book."

"I've read it." Decker tried to make it clear by his tone of voice that he didn't think much of Crick's book, but Goodman didn't seem to notice.

"All the better! You will recall that in the book Crick examines possible origins of life on this planet. He raises the question of why, with the exception of mitochondria, the basic genetic coding mechanism in all living things on earth is identical. Even in the case of mitochondria the differences are rather small. From what we know of earth's evolution, there's no obvious structural reason for the details of the coding mechanism being identical. Crick does not entirely discount the possibility that life originated and evolved naturally on earth, but he offers a second theory: that perhaps life was planted on this planet by a highly advanced civilization from somewhere else. If all life on earth had a common origin, that would explain the apparent bottleneck in genetic evolution.

"Crick calls his theory 'directed panspermia' and it's not unlike a theory propounded by the astronomer Sir Fred Hoyle.⁽⁴⁾ Crick points out that the amount of time since the Big Bang easily allows for the development of life and evolution of intelligent beings on other planets as long as four billion years ago. And that's if we take a very conservative estimate of ten to twelve billion years for the age of the universe. What that means is that on one or more planets in our galaxy, there may exist intelligent life which is as much as four billion years more advanced than life on earth!

"Professor Crick goes on to suggest that if these intelligent beings wanted to colonize other planets they wouldn't start by sending members of their own species. To colonize a planet, it would first be necessary to prepare that planet for habitation. Without plant life there wouldn't be sufficient oxygen for intelligent life, as we know it, to exist. And of course there wouldn't be food for the colonists either. To establish the needed plant life, they would have only to place some simple bacteria, such as blue-green algae, on the planet and let evolution and the eons of time do their work."

"Professor," Decker interrupted, "I've read the book. What's the point?"

"The point is, so what if Crick is right? What if life was planted on earth by an ancient race from another planet? Where are they now? Well," Goodman continued, answering his own questions, "Crick makes several suggestions: Maybe they all died. Maybe they lost interest in space travel. Maybe they didn't find the earth suitable for their particular needs.

"But there's another possibility Crick didn't mention." Goodman paused to emphasize his point. "Certainly earth wouldn't have been the only planet where they would have planted life. Probably they'd have seeded thousands of planets throughout the galaxy. So, what if when they finally got to this particular planet, they found that it was already populated, and not just by plants and animals. What if, through some strange set of parallel twists of evolution, they found that it was populated by beings not far different from themselves? Would they simply invade and colonize it anyway? Or might they instead decide to observe it and let it evolve naturally?"

"Professor," Decker interrupted again, "what has all this got to do with the Shroud of Turin?"

"Think about it, Decker. Somewhere in the galaxy there may be a civilization of beings, billions of years advanced to us, who are responsible for planting life throughout the galaxy, including earth. I believe that the man whose regeneration caused the image on the Shroud of Turin was a member of that parent race, sent here as an observer: a man from a race of humanlike beings, so far advanced to us that they are capable of regeneration, possibly even immortality. Not true gods-at least not in the way that term is normally used-but not too far from it."

"Haven't you heard what I've been saying?" Decker interrupted. "The Shroud of Turin is just not old enough to be the burial cloth of Christ!" Decker closed his eyes and took a long breath to gather his composure. "Professor, look," he said slowly. "This whole theory is ludicrous. And I think if you'll just stop for a second you'll realize how crazy it is. You're a scientist, and you're a good one. You know a reasonable hypothesis from a-"

"I am not crazy!" Goodman shot back. "So just cut the patronizing and hear me out!"

Decker stood up, ready to leave. "I'm sorry, Professor. You don't want me. You want someone from the National Enquirer!"

Goodman stood and placed himself between Decker and the door. "I'm not nuts. I fully expected your reaction, but I'm telling you I can test and prove both of these hypotheses. I know how crazy it all sounds, but when you see what I've found on the Shroud, you'll understand."

Finally, here was something solid Decker's curiosity could relate to. He no longer hoped to find the news story of the millennium, but he might at least find out what had made Goodman's conservative scientific mind turn to mush. He agreed to go to the laboratory. On the way there his thoughts turned to humor for relief. I'll bet he found a mustard stain, he decided, trying not to laugh at the whole ridiculous situation. Elizabeth is never going to believe this.

  * * *

In the lab Goodman opened a locked cabinet and pulled out a clear plastic case with several dozen slides in it. Decker recognized it as the case of tape samples taken from the Shroud of Turin. "As I told you earlier," Goodman began, "I borrowed the slides in order to examine further the dirt particles that were found in the left heel area of the image. I hadn't even thought about the Shroud for the last few years, but when it was announced they were going to do the Carbon 14 dating, it reminded me of something. I wondered if it might be possible to determine the specific makeup of the particles of dirt found on the Shroud and perhaps see if any unusual characteristics could rule in or rule out given points of origin. In other words, was there anything about the dirt that would indicate that it had originated in the Middle East or, conversely, was there anything that would instead indicate that the dirt was from either France or Italy or perhaps even somewhere else?

"If it was from the Middle East, or even from Jerusalem itself, it would not necessarily prove anything about the Shroud, of course. A forger who went to all the trouble of placing dirt on the Shroud in such minute amounts that it would take a twentieth-century macroscope to see it might just as well have thought to import the dirt from Jerusalem. It makes about as much sense, which is to say: none at all. I just wanted to get another look at it."

Goodman sat down in front of a microscope, turned on its lamp and placed a slide on the scope's stage. "In the car I told you that Dr. Heller had avoided using too much magnification because of what it was he was looking for." Goodman paused, looked through the eyepiece lens, and adjusted the scope's objectives and focus. "In my case," he continued as he looked up at Decker, "I used between a 600X and a 1000X." Goodman stood up and motioned for Decker to look through the scope. "This first slide is the sample taken from directly over the left heel."

Decker moved the slide around on the stage, refocusing as necessary. "There's not much there," he said, still scanning the slide.

"Exactly," Goodman said. "At first I was rather disappointed. I checked the grid, but the only other samples from the feet were from the nail wounds in the right foot." Goodman took the slide from the microscope and carefully placed it back in its designated slot.

"You remember that the right foot actually had two exit wounds, indicating that the feet had been nailed left over right. The right foot was nailed down first, with the nail exiting through the arch of the foot. The left foot was then nailed on top of the right with the nail passing through both feet, leaving an exit wound in the arch of the left foot and the heel of the right. Neither of these samples seemed very promising, though, because any dirt that had been in the wound areas would likely have been bonded to the cloth by the blood."

Goodman took a second slide from the plastic case. "This particular sample is from the blood stain of the right heel. I really didn't expect to find any dirt there, but I looked anyway." Goodman paused.

"That's when I found it."

Goodman reached around Decker, shut off the microscope's lamp, and handed him the slide. Decker took the slide and placed it on the microscope's stage. He adjusted the mirror to compensate for the loss of light from the lamp and focused the lens. Goodman rotated the objective to 800X. On the slide before him, Decker could see a group of several strangely familiar disk?shaped objects surrounded by and imbedded into crusty blackish?brown material that he assumed to be blood.

After a moment, he looked up at Goodman. His eyes had grown wide and his mind raced in disbelief and confusion. "Is that possible?" he asked finally.

Goodman opened a large medical text book to a well-marked page and pointed to an illustration in the upper left corner. What Decker saw there was an artist's representation of something very similar to what he had just seen through Goodman's microscope. The caption below the picture read, "human dermal skin cells."

Decker looked back through the microscope to be sure. Inexplicably, despite hundreds or even thousands of years, they appeared to be perfectly preserved. He felt Goodman reach around him again, this time to turn the lamp back on. The brighter light made the small disks appear transparent and Decker could clearly see the nucleus of each cell. Within a few seconds the lamp began to gently warm the slide. Decker looked away to rub his eyes and then looked back.

In the warmth of the artificial light, the nuclei began to move.

 Chapter 4

Mother of God

Los Angeles, California

Decker's chest felt heavy and his head light. He struggled to catch his breath. Silently he watched the nuclei of the cells as they continued to undulate. His mind seemed to float in the sea of warm cytoplasm before him, void of points of reference except for the cells. A thousand questions rose and fell, fighting for his attention, but he was incapable of enough focus on anything outside of what he saw to even realize his confusion. It was only when he ceased his attempt to understand the full impact of what he was seeing that his senses began to reemerge from the ooze. Decker's ears slowly became aware of Goodman's voice.

"Decker . . . Decker . . ." Goodman touched him on the shoulder and he finally looked up. "Are you hungry?"

Decker hadn't eaten since breakfast, but right now he thought Goodman's question was insane.

"Believe me," said Goodman, "I know just how you feel. The same thing happened to me. I went looking for dirt and found live dermal skin cells. I nearly got religion! That's when I made the connection to Professor Crick's theory." Goodman took the slide from the microscope and carefully placed it back in the plastic case.

"What is it?" Decker asked finally.

"I showed you," said Goodman. "They're dermal cells-cells from just below the skin's surface. Oh, and as you've obviously noticed, they're alive." Goodman hid the excitement he felt in finally being able to share his discovery, and his calm, understated response simply served to accentuate Decker's confusion.

"But what? . . . How?" Decker pleaded.

"The cells were picked up on the Mylar tape along with some small flecks of blood. Apparently when the Shroud was laid over the crucified man, some of the exposed flesh of the wound was bonded to the cloth by the dried blood. When the man was regenerated and the Shroud was pulled away from his body, a small amount of dermal material was pulled away with it. The same thing can happen when bandages are removed from a large wound. I suspect the weight of the heel resting on the cloth helped some, too. What you have just seen are cells at least six hundred years old with absolutely no sign of degeneration. In short: They're alive."

"Six hundred years?" Decker asked, surprised that Professor Goodman had not said two thousand.

"Well, if the Carbon 14 dating is correct, yes. On the other hand, I think it is rather unlikely that anyone would have been crucified in the thirteenth or fourteenth century. I have no real evidence to dispute the Carbon 14 results, but my guess is that, in all likelihood, the Shroud does date to the first century and was, in fact, the burial cloth of Jesus. The historical evidence is rather conclusive that Jesus did exist. I've never doubted that any more than I've doubted the historical evidence of Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar. Actually, it all fits perfectly into my hypothesis."

"Professor, why weren't the blood cells alive?" Decker asked.

"That's an interesting question. I assume it's because the blood is from the body that died. The skin cells, on the other hand, are from the body after it was regenerated."

Goodman put his hand on Decker's shoulder and gently nudged him in the direction of the door. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved and my housekeeper was expecting us half an hour ago for lunch. My wife is visiting her mother in Kansas City."

  * * *

Goodman's house was an English Tudor with brown trim and stone on a quiet dead?end street about twenty minutes from the campus. The two men were greeted at the door by Goodman's housekeeper, a young Hispanic woman. "Maria, this is my guest, Mr. Hawthorne." Goodman spoke very slowly, enunciating every word. "We'll have our lunch now."

Decker looked around the house. Just about every wall had shelves full of books. A few shelves had additional books neatly stacked beside them. Decker had never met Goodman's wife, Martha, but she was obviously very tolerant of her husband's profession.

"Professor, we need to talk," Decker said as they sat down at the dining room table.

"Yes, I know," Goodman answered.

Decker's eyes glanced to the housekeeper and then back to Goodman.

"Oh, don't worry about her," Goodman said. "She hardly speaks any English. She's only been in this country about six months."

"We can't keep this to ourselves," Decker started.

"I have no intention of keeping it secret forever, but if we let the story out now there will be no end to the reporters. Not to mention the thousands of mindless religious kooks. You remember the crowds in Turin lined up to see the Shroud? What do you think would happen if word leaked out that live cells from the body of Jesus were in a laboratory in Los Angeles? Every sick or dying person in America would be here overnight hoping to touch the cells and be healed. I've touched the cells and they haven't done a thing for me. You may have touched them yourself, when you were handling the Shroud in Turin and I notice it hasn't stopped your hairline from receding," Goodman added in characteristic deadpan humor. "All that would result from releasing the story now is that a lot of people would be hurt. But if we wait until I've finished my research we may be able to offer some real healing power."

"What do you mean 'real healing power'?"

"Decker, are you blind? You saw those cells. What do you think we've been talking about?"

"I'm not sure I know anymore."

"Those cells are hundreds or even thousands of years old. They have survived intense heat and freezing cold. As far as we can tell, they're immortal. Yet in most respects they're human. With time, we may be able to discover what makes them immortal. We may discover things that can lead to new vaccines, create powerful new life?saving drugs, extend life, perhaps even bring about our own immortality!"

Decker raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I hadn't even considered anything like that," he said.

"Actually, I'm already deeply involved in research on the cells. I began by inducing cell mitosis in the laboratory. The cells are extremely resilient and multiply rapidly. I've been able to grow a substantial culture. However, there is another area of research worthy of pursuit as well." Goodman paused to consider his words. "Decker, what do you know about cloning?"

It took Decker only an instant to guess what Goodman was getting at. Decker was not a religious person, but this idea rubbed him entirely the wrong way. "Hold it! You don't mean . . . You're talking about cloning Jesus?!" Decker's loud outburst startled Maria, who dropped a plate in the kitchen.

Goodman apparently had not anticipated Decker's opposition. "Just wait a minute!" he replied at a slightly lower and more controlled decibel level. "To begin with, we can't be certain that these are the cells of Jesus."

"Well, it's a pretty good guess!" Decker shot back, incredulously.

"But even if they are," Goodman continued, "I still find my hypothesis about his origin more reasonable than any silly religious notions you may have."

It was then that Decker put it all together. "That's what you were talking about before! That's how you plan to test your hypothesis that Jesus was from an advanced alien race! You're going to try to clone him!"

"Look, Decker, there's no need for a shouting match. And anyway, you're jumping to ridiculous conclusions based on insufficient data. All I meant was that you might someday be able to test my hypothesis of the man's origin in that manner." Goodman's clarification wasn't very convincing.

"Look, Professor," Decker said, "it's one thing to do lab research or grow cells in a petri dish, but you just can't go around cloning people, especially if the guy you want to clone might just be the son of God!"

"Decker, use your brain. If the image on the Shroud was from the son of God, then tell me this: Why would an all?knowing, all?wise, all-powerful creator allow the cells to get stuck to the Shroud in the first place?"

"Who knows? Maybe as a sign or something."

"And why would he allow me, a man who doesn't even believe in him, to find the cells? If it was some kind of sign, wouldn't God at least have chosen someone who believed in him?"

Decker didn't have an answer.

"But more important," continued Goodman, "even if you examine it from a religious point of view, you must ask how could a mere mortal manage to clone the son of God? Would the 'soul' of Jesus be in the clone?" Goodman struggled to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Would God really allow himself to be so easily manipulated by men?"

Decker listened. As uncomfortable as it made him feel, what Goodman was saying made sense.

"Decker, I really expected you to be more open minded about this. Where's your scientific curiosity? Surely you can see that if I did manage to clone the man on the Shroud, it would be proof positive that he was not the son of God. If, I repeat, if it was possible to clone the man, we still might never know his origin because he would not have the memory of the original. But we'd know one thing without a doubt, and it's that he was not the son of God, because if he was, I think you'll agree, it's a pretty safe assumption that God wouldn't allow us to clone his son."

Decker couldn't argue with Goodman's logic. An all-knowing, all-powerful God was not likely to just leave a bunch of his son's cells lying around. Besides, it was obvious that as far as Goodman was concerned, the discussion was over.

During their conversation the two men had taken only a few bites of their dinners. Goodman now focused his attention on the plate before him. Decker felt it wise to do the same. After the meal the conversation grew a little more amiable, but Goodman was clearly angered and avoided the subject of the Shroud entirely, except to say that he would call Decker when the next step in his research on the cells was under way.

  * * *

As they stood to leave for the airport, Maria cleared the dishes and silver, stretching across the large table to reach Professor Goodman's saucer and cup. She carried them back to the kitchen, tugging lightly at her apron and adjusting her maternity dress.

The following is taken from Chapter 16 of In His Image -- Book One of The Christ Clone Trilogy

Chapter 16

The Hand of God

The Kremlin, Moscow

Eleven hundred miles and nearly due north of Tel Aviv, the Russian Security Council was meeting to discuss the events in Israel. It was now 12:05 P.M. in Moscow, 4:05 A.M. in New York, and 11:05 A.M. in Israel.

At eighty-six years old, Defense Minister Vladimir Leon Josef Khromchenkov was the oldest of the thirteen men assembled in the Kremlin's war?room. Khromchenkov had been born in the early days of the Russian Revolution. His father had missed the birth, choosing instead to take part in the fighting in Petrograd. Throughout the revolution and the years that followed, Khromchenkov's father somehow managed to walk the fine line of being close to Lenin, Stalin, and Trotsky and yet was never so close to any one of them that he was considered a threat by the other two. His ability to maneuver through politically treacherous waters had been passed on to his son. After serving for nearly forty years in the Soviet Army, Vladimir Khromchenkov had come to the Kremlin during the early days of Gorbachev as a candidate of the hard?liners who opposed Gorbachev's reforms and were afraid he might "give away the store."

Boris Yeltzin and Vladimir Putin had both attempted to weaken Khromchenkov's political power and even to remove him from the Security Council, without success. Khromchenkov knew the inner workings of everything and used it to his advantage. Had he wanted it, he might well have become president, but Khromchenkov preferred manipulating to being manipulated. It was said of Khromchenkov that he believed it was his destiny not to die until the Soviet Union had been restored as a world power. And though he gave the credit to others, it was Khromchenkov who had engineered the invasion of Israel as a key step toward bringing about that destiny.

"Comrades," Defense Minister Khromchenkov began in old Soviet style, which always irritated some of those around him but warmed the hearts of others, "our intelligence reports have just confirmed that this morning's strike against our international peacekeeping forces in Israel was conceived and initiated by Israeli insurgents. We have very recently regained communications with General Serov, who is in charge of the Strategic Defense Control Facility at Mizpe Ramon. He reports that the Israelis apparently took control of the nuclear forces from a remote facility, from which they launched this morning's attack. At present the insurgents are fighting our troops stationed in the cities, and a small force of Israelis has set up camp outside the control facility. General Serov has sealed the blast doors so his forces are in no danger from the insurgents outside. Presently, he reports, he is working to isolate the breach in operations in order to attempt to regain control. One other point," Khromchenkov said, as if it were only an afterthought, though in reality it was the most significant thing he would say, "in addition to having control of their launch facilities, the Israelis have also taken control of their strategic defense."

Foreign Minister Cherov recognized the importance of Khromchenkov's final point. If the Israeli resistance had control of the strategic defense, then it greatly limited Russia's options for response.

"Our damage estimates indicate that the warheads used were Gideon?class five-megaton neutron devices targeted for just outside the perimeter of each of our six temporary installations. We believe the loss of personnel in the camps was total."

"What about the materiel?" asked the minister of finance, concerned more about the stockpiles of weaponry than the thousands of lost lives.

"At this moment we have no assessment of damage to our weaponry, but it is likely the equipment has survived the attack."

"What do you suggest?" President Perelyakin asked the defense minister.

"We must assume," Khromchenkov began, "that the use of low megatonnage neutron bombs was intended to kill our soldiers while allowing the Israelis to seize our weapons for their defense against the Arabs. While we can hope that General Serov will regain control of the nuclear capabilities and strategic defense, we must plan a response in the event those attempts are unsuccessful. Therefore, in addition to immediately replacing our peacekeeping forces, I recommend we prepare both a nuclear and a conventional response. First, if we regain control of the strategic defense, then our response to the Israeli nuclear attack should be in kind. I recommend a launch of six low?yield neutron bombs on Israeli targets to match the unprovoked Israeli attack on our troops. Second, if we are not able to regain control of the strategic defense, then within twenty?four hours, before Israel can avail itself of our equipment, we must launch an air strike against those same six targets, followed by additional strikes against any Israeli troops who attempt to take our equipment. The second option is not as colorful, but it will make the point."

"Defense Minister Khromchenkov," said Interior Minister Stefan Ulinov, "if we can regain control of the Israeli's nuclear forces, then I recommend that the launch come from their own silos."

"Excellent" approved President Perelyakin, and everyone agreed.

"As for a nuclear response," Ulinov continued, "if Israel's strategic defense is anywhere near as effective as our intelligence reports indicate, then Defense Minister Khromchenkov is absolutely correct. We must not launch a nuclear response unless we are sure the warheads will reach their targets. We cannot afford to provide the world with a demonstration of what a well-developed missile defense can do. It would be," Ulinov said, measuring his words for effect, "a catastrophic mistake if the net result of this entire event was to encourage the West to finally deploy their own full?scale strategic defense." Ulinov paused to allow the members of the Security Council a moment to consider what he felt was the great wisdom of his words and then looked over at Defense Minister Khromchenkov to surrender the floor to him.

"Ultimately," said Khromchenkov, "if we are unable to retake the nuclear capabilities or the strategic defense, we will have to expend much greater forces to disable the missile silos with conventional air strikes. Once they have again been stripped of their nuclear forces I believe we can count on Israel to surrender its strategic defenses."

"Excellent," the president said again. "I commend you, Mr. Defense Minister, for your clear thought and planning of a sensible response to this incident."

  * * *

When the meeting was over, Defense Minister Khromchenkov hung back to catch Foreign Minister Cherov alone. Khromchenkov felt sure he knew Cherov's feelings on what he was about to ask, but one could never be too careful. "Tell me, Comrade Cherov," he said when he was sure no one could overhear their conversation, "what did you think of my recommendations for a limited response?"

"I think they were well planned . . . if your intent was to satisfy the wishes of President Perelyakin." Cherov's voice hid nothing; it was obvious he was not satisfied with Khromchenkov's plan.

"Perhaps you would prefer a response that was a bit . . . stronger? One that took greater advantage of the opportunity?"

"I had hopes, yes."

"I did prepare an alternate recommendation. Perhaps you would like to have a look?" Khromchenkov handed a large unmarked envelope to his fellow minister and left the room.

New York, New York

By 8:00 A.M. New York time, the world had begun to learn what had actually happened in Israel. Early reports had suggested that the bombing was an accident on the part of the Russians. Many of the Russians had even thought this was the case. Now that it was clear the attack had been somehow engineered by the Israelis, concern at the UN quickly turned to calls for restraint by the Russians.

Jon Hansen had learned early in his political career that the most effective diplomacy is usually carried out in private; the speaker's dais in the hall of the General Assembly was for show business. Still, there were times, such as when he had called for the reorganization of the Security Council-a move that was entirely for spectacle-when the dais was indispensable. The present occasion would require both.

It was ingenious that the Israelis could engineer such a maneuver, Hansen thought; it was insane that they'd actually do it. And it was impossible for anyone to tell how the Russians were planning to respond to the attack. Hansen knew enough about Russian politics to recognize there would probably be serious discussion of launching some sort of limited nuclear attack in response, but he hoped the moderates would win out. Unfortunately, he could learn nothing more from Russian Ambassador Yuri Kruszkegin, who was playing it very close to the vest.

Unknown to Hansen were the cards in the hand of the small group of men and women deep beneath the streets of Tel Aviv. They were the ones who held history in their hands, along with the control of Israel's nuclear forces and strategic defense.

Moscow, Russia

Defense Minister Vladimir Khromchenkov had just walked into the restroom and gone over to one of the urinals when he realized that someone had followed him in. Out of the corner of his eye he recognized Foreign Minister Cherov. Khromchenkov knew at once this was no chance meeting; he could count on the fingers of his free hand the number of times he had seen Cherov in this wing of the building. Still, it was not wise to make assumptions. "Good afternoon," Khromchenkov said.

Cherov only nodded.

"Have you had a chance to examine my alternate proposal?"

"I have," answered Cherov. "It offers some intriguing possibilities for both the short- and long-term goals of our country." Cherov's voice said he was interested and Khromchenkov knew it.

"Of course," Khromchenkov said, "such a plan would depend greatly on the response from the Americans. I have made some assumptions, and of course it is all conjecture; I am not an expert in these things." There was no doubt in Cherov's mind that this was said both to fulfill Khromchenkov's obligation to defer to Cherov's position as Foreign Minister and to position himself to avoid the blame later if his assumptions on the matter proved incorrect. "Perhaps you would have a different assessment," Khromchenkov suggested as he left the urinal to wash his hands.

"No. Your assessment seems correct." Cherov said as he joined him at the sink. "Of course, we shall never know for sure. It would be impossible to overrule the wishes of President Perelyakin on this matter." Cherov's voice made it clear he was eager to hear more, if indeed there was more to hear.

"I suppose you are correct," Khromchenkov said with an insincere sigh, and then added, "On the other hand, were it to be proposed by the right member of the Security Council, there are doubtless others who would follow."

"The right member?" Cherov asked, wanting Khromchenkov to confirm what he seemed to be suggesting.

"Yes, someone who could offer the strong leadership required to lead the Russian Federation, should the president find it, er . . . impossible to support the view of the majority."

There was now no doubt about what he was suggesting. Khromchenkov's plan was obvious: Cherov was "the right member." President Perelyakin would obviously oppose the plan. That was the easy part. The difficult part-impossible, unless it could be prearranged-was to have the majority side with Cherov. Perelyakin was not a forgiving man. If the plan failed it would cost Cherov dearly.

"Can one be sure of the numbers?" Cherov asked cautiously.

"As sure as one may be of anything," Khromchenkov answered, drying his hands. "There are three members who supported Perelyakin in the past who have confided to me that they do not wish to see an opportunity such as this pass unanswered."

Cherov did a quick tally of the numbers. It suddenly occurred to him that, despite the accuracy of Khromchenkov's math, everything did not add up. Why had not these three members simply gone to Perelyakin to press for a stronger response to the problem?

"And have these members gone to President Perelyakin with their plea?" Cherov asked.

"Yes, of course."

"And he refuses to listen?"

"He listens. He just does not hear. His world is built on caution."

"A sound foundation," Cherov answered.

"Yes, but one that may let destiny slip past unanswered and ignore an opportunity that would restore Russia to its rightful place as a world power."

"You speak of opportunity. But there is no such opportunity unless your General Serov is successful in regaining control of the Israeli strategic defense."

"True enough," Khromchenkov admitted. "If he does not, then the alternate recommendation will not be made and there is nothing lost. And yet, if he does succeed . . . we must be ready to act."

Cherov considered Khromchenkov's comment. "I will think on it," he said finally.

Tel Aviv, Israel

In the Off?Site Test Facility the members of Colonel White's team took turns sleeping. It had been thirty hours since the successful launch of the Gideon missiles; it might be days or even weeks before they saw the outside again. Joel was munching on a bag of Tapu potato chips in front of a computer console and Scott had just stretched out on a cot to rest when something unexpected happened.

"What's this?" Joel said under his breath. "Colonel White," he called, requesting the team leader's presence.

Colonel White downed the rest of a cup of coffee and walked over to where Joel was sitting. "What's up?" he asked.

Joel moved closer to the console, studying the computer monitor. "A bad reading, I hope. The master icon for the defense grid just went red."

Colonel White took one look and didn't like what he saw. "Danny, get over here quick," he yelled to one of the two female members of the team.

Danielle Metzger was the one person, other than White, with the most experience in the OSTF, but unlike the Colonel her work had all been hands on. She knew the facility inside and out.

"Oh, no!" she yelled. The noise woke the three team members who were sleeping.

"Quick," Metzger shouted, taking command of the situation. "Everybody, we've got a problem!!"

"Tell me what's going on," White ordered.

"We've lost control," Danielle responded as she ran a series of diagnostics to be sure the readings were correct.

"What happened?" several voices said at once.

Danielle continued working, madly trying to reestablish control. Finally she confirmed that this was not simply a faulty reading. "Colonel, it appears that somehow the Russians have taken control of all defensive capabilities."

"Can we get them back?" he asked, terrified of what her answer might be.

"I don't know, sir. I-"

"Wait a second," Joel interrupted. "We still have control of our offensive forces. How could we lose one but not the other? Could this just be an aberration in the system?"

Like the others, Scott Rosen was studying the situation, trying to get some idea of what went wrong and what could be done to correct it. It was he who answered Joel's question. "It's not an aberration," he replied. "I can't explain how they did it but I can explain what they've done. The fiber optics used for communication between the various sites in the offensive and defensive systems go through both the SDCF and the OSTF. For reasons of logistics, control communications of missile silos go first through this facility and then to the SDCF; defensive control communications go first through the SDCF and then to this facility."

"What idiot decided to do that?!" Joel exclaimed.

"Dr. Brown," answered Danielle Metzger. "But he couldn't have predicted we'd ever be in a situation like this," she continued, becoming a little defensive on behalf of the late doctor who had been her mentor.

Scott continued his explanation. "Somehow they must have discovered that Sensor Facility 14 was a counterfeit facility and traced its input/output cables."

"So can we get control back or not?" Colonel White asked, reasserting his authority. There was a long pause.

"I don't think so," Scott answered finally. "I think they may have cut the cables."

2. Ibid, pp. 126 and 163.(Return.)

3. Francis Crick, Life Itself, (New York: Simon and Shuster, 1983).(Return)

4. Sir Fred Hoyle and Chandra Wickramasinghe, Diseases from Space, (London: Dent, 1979).(Return)