CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (36 page)

It was during this time of haunting frustration that the old man
had come into Sinclair's life. Within months, he guided the geneticist
in a creation that rivaled that of nature's-a perfect synthetic uterus.
And, he had solved the mystery of primate cloning-why there was
chromosomal chaos during the last stages, and better yet, how to remedy it with a key protein-rich chemical soup. The thought brought a
satisfied expression to his face.

The hum of computer cooling fans and mini-pumps filled the
room as Sinclair looked into the microscope and adjusted the focus.
"The world is about to change forever," he whispered. "The Son of
God belongs to the Son of the Dawn."

Behold, I come as a thief, and thou shalt not know at what hour! (Revelations 3:3)

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, there's more?" Cotten said. Her hands trembled in anticipation.

John moved from the window. "Like I said, while you slept, I
reread the book of Revelation. It seemed so clear that we are dealing
with evil in its purest form. But then I read more passages-the
words of Ezekiel, Matthew, and others, all describing the Second
Coming.

"You have to realize when these men described the event, they
thought it would happen soon, perhaps even in their lifetime. Their
writing related to customs, beliefs, traditions, and ways of life they
were familiar with-they used the terminology of their time. They
had no idea what was to come hundreds, even thousands of years
later. If you had described the concept of cloning to any of them, they
would have considered you insane-perhaps even a heretic for thinking you had the power of God to create a human. When I reread their
words describing how Christ would return to Earth, I could clearly
see that maybe, just maybe, this is how it is supposed to be."

"What do you mean?" Cotten said.

"This might really be the Second Coming."

"You've lost me."

"The book of Revelation-the Apocalypse-is filled with the visions
of John the Apostle, a man who had no knowledge of the science we
know today. He predicted the events as best he could, relying on the
depth of his information at the time. Tonight, I used his words to convince you that this whole thing is an attempt by Lucifer to get revenge
on God-that we are about to see the creation of the Antichrist. But
consider for a moment that there's something even deeper here. What if
using the DNA from the Grail and the cloning of Jesus Christ is in fact
the Second Coming? The time is right. The signs are present. What if we
pursue this and though we think we are stopping something evil we
really become responsible for stopping the true Second Coming?"

John looked up at the ceiling, then back at her. "Okay, I'm going
to reach out to the farm girl in you. We're going to talk cows."

Cotten offered up a confused laugh.

"One of the last signs in the Bible that the end is near, that it is
time for Jesus to return, is the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem.
But first, those who would rebuild the Temple must undergo purification. According to the book of Numbers, a perfect red heifer-no
defects, and on which a yoke has never been placed-has to be
slaughtered and burned, its ashes made into a paste to be used in the
purification ceremony."

"That should be easy enough."

"Except that no flawless red heifer has been born since Herod's
Temple was destroyed in A.D. 70-about 2,000 years ago. That is, until
last April. They thought one was born in 1997, but white hairs
popped out on the tip of her tail, so she was ruled unacceptable for
sacrifice. But the calf born in April looks like she might just be the
one. So you see, if the purification can take place according to the directions given Moses, the Jews will certainly take over the Temple
Mount and begin rebuilding. The red heifer means the time is at
hand."

Cotten's eyebrows furrowed as she strained to put it all together.
"What you are saying is it could go either way-the cloning might be
the work of Satan, or it might be that the Second Coming is supposed
to be happening right now, and it might be happening by way of
cloning?"

"What if Satan's real mission is to use you and me to interrupt
God's plan?"

Cotten sat on the bed. "I'm so confused, I can't think straight. You
just finished convincing me someone is going to create the Antichrist,
and now you're turning it completely around."

He held her by the shoulders. "I'm relying on my gut feeling, here.
I could be wrong. But I think we are on the brink of coming face to
face with those who stole the Grail and are attempting to clone Jesus.
We are going to find out who they are and try to stop them. But what
if I've got it all wrong?"

Cotten took his hands from her shoulders and held them, shaking
her head. "No. God wouldn't let that happen to you. He wouldn't.
You're too good. There isn't the tiniest cell in your body that could be
made to do anything evil." She looked deep into John's eyes-the
intensity, the turbulence, the dark blue of the sea during a stormand prayed she was right.

AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT and only a few hours of sleep, the next
morning Cotten and John took a cab to MGM Costume Rentals.
They had first tried stores that sold costumes, but found the prices
too steep. Renting would be much more reasonable.

John started with a realistic Henry the Eighth, but because of his
slim build the costume draped in folds where it should have billowed,
hung loose where it should have clung. He didn't look kingly, Cotten
told him. When he appeared as King Tut, she bent over with laughter,
sending him back to the changing room. But when she saw him reappear as Elvis singing "Blue Suede Shoes," her laughter pealed through
the store.

She tried Marie Antoinette, Peter Pan ... and an angel. Standing
in front of John as the angel, white feathered wings, silver threads
woven through the gossamer white robe, she heard him suck in a
breath.

Cotten raised her brows. "Thought I should a least give this one a
try."

"You look so ... beautiful;' he said.

It sounded more as if he were thinking aloud than meaning to
speak, so she didn't respond. Looking at herself in a full-length mirror, she thought of Motnees and wondered if angels really had wings.
The costume was lovely, but she needed something less cumbersome
considering she might end up having to make a quick exit if she were
walking into a trap.

Like a sudden slap, the reality of their predicament jerked the fun
out of the moment.

John eventually chose a Phantom of the Opera black cloak with a
mask made of a translucent plastic, while Cotten selected an Alice in
Wonderland dress and the same kind of translucent mask devoid of
color except for the dark rose lips.

"Great choices," the clerk said. "As you can imagine, our selection
has been picked over, but I think you both looked terrific." She handwrote the bill. "That'll be one hundred four dollars."

John handed her two fifties and a five, and the clerk gave him
change.

"I'll need a credit card for the security deposit," she said.

"But we paid cash," Cotten said.

"I know. But sometimes our customers don't return the costumes.
Store policy. We don't charge your card unless the costume doesn't
come back after forty-eight hours."

John put his arm around Cotten's waist, pulled her close to his
side, and put on a wide grin. "Jan and I are making a clean start," he
said.

Jan? Cotten repeated the name in her head, holding back the urge
to elbow him.

John went on. "When we were first married, we got into some
financial difficulty. When we finally got out of debt, we cut up all our
cards. If we can't pay for something in cash, then we don't buy. It's
our rule. Right, honey?" he said, smiling at Cotten.

"Right," she said.

"How about we leave you another hundred dollars for the
deposit?" He joggled Cotten's waist, rocking her against his side, making her lean into him, then pecked her on the cheek. "We've made a
promise," he said. "We aren't ever going to find ourselves in debt
again."

The clerk watched as John slid a one hundred dollar bill across
the counter. "The store manager isn't here to decide," she said, looking around. "Oh, I don't know if-"

"We're honest people," John said. "And this is our first Mardi
Gras. We've saved all year. We're really stretching our budget just to be
here."

"Please," Cotten said. "Buddy and I have looked forward to this
for so long." As soon as she spoke, she couldn't help but glance at
John. Jan and Buddy.

The girl sighed. "All right, but swear you'll bring them back
tomorrow."

"Absolutely," John said. "Thanks."

"Honey? Jan?" Cotten said when they were on the street. "You're a
con-artist. A silver-tongued-" She stopped herself.

"Devil?" he said.

Cotten looked down, wishing she had thought before she spoke.
"I could use a little sugar on my foot to make it taste better."

"That reminds me, I'm hungry, too," John said. "But I think I'd
prefer a beignet or some pralines."

Carrying their costumes, they walked a few blocks, stopping at
Mulates Cajun restaurant for a sandwich before hailing a taxi and
heading back to the Blue Bayou.

"The Krewe of Orpheus parade starts about three o'clock;" John said
as he read the Mardi Gras brochure in their room. "But you aren't
supposed to meet this guy until six thirty?"

"I guess he wants it to be dark. The parade goes on for five-and-ahalf hours."

"Cotten, I'm only going to be a few feet behind you, so-"

"You know I don't want you to go. If anything happens to you
because of me..."

At five o'clock they got dressed, then studied the street map.

"He'll be wearing a pirate costume. That's all we know," Cotten
said. "There will probably be a dozen pirates on the corner of St.
Charles and Jackson at six thirty."

"Go first," John said. "I'll give you enough time to get to the end
of the first block before I come out. This guy already might know
where we are and follow from the start. At the third intersection, wait
on the corner long enough for me to catch up. Fiddle with your costume or something to buy me a few minutes. Don't look back or
you'll give me away. Are you ready?"

"No," she said. "But I'm going anyway."

John stood behind the door, and Cotten walked out. A few
moments later he followed.

Throngs of people jammed the streets as they got closer to the
parade route.

At the third corner, Cotten stopped, adjusting the lay of the flimsy
white organdy pinafore over the blue Alice dress. She retied the sash,
using the opportunity to sneak a glance behind. The crowd was too
thick for her to see how close John trailed.

Suddenly, she was swept up by the current of people, whisked
along like a leaf on a river. The closeness, the constant jostling and
bumping, had her heartbeat pulsing even in her fingertips. She thought of the street festival in Miami, and her stomach tightened.
The man on her answering machine who told her to come to New
Orleans, the one who disguised his voice, the one who might be hell
bent on killing her, could be standing next to her, even brushing
against her.