“I really hope that’s it,” Shannon added. “I’ve always found the last verse of Acts the most frustrating passage in the entire Bible.”
“Well, darling, we may now be able to find out what happened next.” He flashed her an incandescent smile.
The quest for answers, however, would have to be delayed until the evening rushes. For now, they had to finish the photography with only three days left, and the final day was reserved for the report to the patriarch.
Immediately after the sacred pearl of their discovery-Second Acts-followed the expected epistles: Pros Romaios -Romans, then Pros Korinthious A -First Corinthians, and Pros Korinthious B -Second Corinthians.
After a break for lunch, they returned to photograph the rest of St. Paul’s writings, also appearing right where they should be: Pros Galatas -Galatians, Pros Ephesious -Ephesians, Pros Philippasious -Philippians, Pros Kolossaeis -Colossians, Pros Thessalonikeis A -First Thessalonians, and finally, Pros Thessalonikeis B -Second Thessalonians.
Having finished for the day, they took their leave of Brother Gregorios and were at the gate of the patriarchate at the agreed-upon time of 4:30 p.m. Again, their security convoy was faithfully waiting on the street just outside. Jon only hoped that they had found something to do with their time during the day.
They could barely wait to finish supper that evening so that they could delve into Second Acts. But they were detained by the nightly visit of Dick Ferris and Osman al-Ghazali. Both complained that it was getting harder every day to hold off the media, who were pressing them for information about Jon and Shannon-what their plans were, their schedules, and when Jon would be available for interviews, photography, press conferences-whatever. Ferris, per usual, delivered his sheaf of continuing response to the debate. This time he supplied an overseas edition of Time. The cover was a wide-angle photo of Hagia Sophia, with vignettes of Jon and Abbas al-Rashid burned in. The cover story was titled “The 1,400-Year Challenge to Christianity,” with sidebars that included brief biographies of both debaters, the main tenets of Islam and Christianity, and even a precis of the debate itself.
Next, Ferris placed a copy of Newsweek on the table, the cover depicting a huge crescent on one side of a diagonal and a cross on the other. “Jesus and Muhammad” bannered the story, with treatment similar to Time ’s.
Osman did the same for media in the Muslim world, where the coverage was also copious. “Actually, the Turkish and Arab press treated you rather well, Jon,” he said. “One would have thought they’d be down on your case. They particularly liked the relationship you seemed to develop with al-Rashid. Well, that is, except the Shiites. Kayhan claimed that al-Rashid sold out the Islamic side, just as he’s been doing for months with his plea for moderation, et cetera, et cetera-predictable stuff. Victory for them would have been a Shiite mullah making you look like an imbecile in debate, Jon, and then grinding your infidel face into the cold marble floor of Hagia Sophia.”
“So they still haven’t lifted Jon’s fatwa yet?” Shannon wondered.
Osman shook his head. “Probably it would take a miracle, like the return of Muhammad from the dead, announcing, ‘Weber is innocent!’”
Again, Ferris and al-Ghazali commented on how Jon seemed less than enthusiastic about all the world media attention, his mind apparently elsewhere. Which it was. He was only waiting for an opening, which came when Ferris asked, “By the way, how goes your exploration of that codex?”
Instantly Jon came to life with an explosive smile. “Now that you ask,” he replied with a wink at Shannon, “you’ll understand why we must ask-no, demand-an even stronger pledge of absolute confidentiality. Agreed?”
Both men nodded.
“No, more than that. Arms up as if you were taking an oath, which this actually is…”
Both raised their palms, as if in court, curiosity dominating their features.
“Well, to discover one of the fifty actual copies Constantine commissioned Eusebius to prepare was sensation enough, you’ll recall. But in photographing it, we found two other items that merely escalate this ‘sensation’ into-shall we say-the cosmic category.”
“What in the world do you mean, Jon?” Ferris asked.
“How about both the lost ending of Mark and Second Acts?”
“Huh- what?” Ferris bellowed. “There’s another Acts? Maybe to finish Paul’s story?”
Jon nodded happily. “I haven’t translated it yet, but here’s the missing ending of Mark.” He handed printouts to both men, then gave a detailed account of how it all happened.
Slowly they recovered. Osman shook his head. “No wonder you didn’t seem all that impressed with what we brought you. All we had were merely your international headlines and stories!”
Jon chuckled. “But isn’t this more important?”
They agreed. Ferris then added, “Unless there’s some bombshell that hasn’t been discovered yet in your Second Acts, yes, Jon, this is more important-important enough to make every Bible… ever printed… in any language… anywhere in the world… outright outdated!”
It was a powerful and very sobering statement. Jon caught the danger immediately and said, “That’s most probably true, Dick, but if you put it that way, millions of Christians across the world may panic or go loony if they think their Bible has been supplanted. What we’ve found doesn’t subvert the Scriptures at all but instead supports them.”
Shannon, who had been silent for most of this, now spoke up. “Here’s another way to put it: the Bible is an immense and colorful mosaic of God’s revelation, but two important tesserae of that mosaic were missing. Now they’re back in place.”
The three men nodded slowly, then enthusiastically. “By george, she’s got it,” Ferris said.
Osman shook his head in wonder. “One ancient document changing history. How large did you say it is?”
“I didn’t say, but the pages measured about thirty-eight by thirty-five centimeters.”
“And the codex itself. It’s about, what, say, five inches thick?”
“About that-a shade more. Why do you ask?”
“I simply can’t wait to see it. When can we?”
“Only photos for now, my friends.”
They discussed future plans regarding the discovery, in which Richard Ferris and the Institute of Christian Origins would have to play a major role, and then their immediate plans for the return flight to the U.S. three days hence.
“Thanks for all your help, gentlemen,” Jon said. “Couldn’t have done it without you. I trust you’ll tie up all the loose ends with our Turkish hosts over the next two days? You will? Great. Now please get out of here so I can translate Second Acts.”
Second Acts proved much more reluctant to offer up its secrets than had the lost ending of Mark’s Gospel. Since none of this material had ever before appeared, none of the passages had the familiarity of the standard New Testament verses Jon had known since childhood and which had always eased the translation process. That awful running together of words in the codex was hardly a help either. Often, when he had just about parsed a sentence into separate words, the result made no sense and drove him back to try again with different word divisions. Here he was veritably lusting to learn what the document said, yet found it difficult to pry open the text. The new section from Mark had been so much easier because of common themes in the resurrection accounts.
Finally he threw down his pen. “I’ll never get this translated tonight, Shannon. I’m sure even modern Greeks would find some of these uncials hard to crack. But now that I’m getting a bit used to them, I will scan the whole text for key words so that we can get a general feeling of where it’s going and what it says.”
“That sounds like a good plan, dear. Would it help if I took notes?”
“That would be ever so kind of you.”
Jon went back to his computer screen and scanned the four columns of each page of Second Acts from the codex.
“Okay, here we go: ‘Paul… when Paul was released… Caesar-yes, Nero Caesar- great, Shannon!… Paul again… and Luke!… judged… Seneca?… Rome… Spain? Yes, Spain!”
Occasionally he used a magnifying glass to zoom in on faint lettering. “Crete… Titus… Ephesus… Alexander… Helios?… Praetorian Guard… Timothy… Via Ostiensis-the Ostian Way… fight… race… victory…”
After an hour of this, Jon felt a little defensive about failing to supply a quick, running translation. “It’s a little maddening with the words all run together.”
“Come, come now, Jon,” she teased. “The ancients could do it.”
“Okay, dear. Just see how it goes-even in English.” He quickly typed out the first two lines of his translation without spaces between the words and handed her a printout. “There you go, Shannon. Have at it. It’s all in perfect English.”
She read: ThisthirdtreatiseOTheophilusdealswithallthatbefellPaul afterAristarchusandIarrivedwithhiminRomeandwestayed inhisownrentedhousenearthePraetorian…
“And now imagine all that in a foreign language too,” Jon continued, “and in lettering so different from the norm that you nearly have to relearn the alphabet.”
“Point taken, Jon. I am impressed. You manuscript sleuths must be geniuses.”
“Hmmm… you wouldn’t be patronizing me now, would you?” A slight grin was warping his mouth.
“Of course I am. I want to patronize you for the rest of your life!” Then she gave him a lingering, passionate kiss.
After the embrace, Jon returned to the desk and turned off his laptop. “I’ll certainly have enough reading material on our flight back to the States! In fact, I’ll be lucky if I get all this translated in a month.”
On arrival at the patriarchate the next morning, Jon assured Brother Gregorios that this would be the last time he would have to descend to the geniza on their behalf since they were nearly finished. The archivist actually seemed disappointed. Perhaps, like colleagues in his profession, he cherished every part of his collection-even cast-off manuscripts-and he had enjoyed a fresh bond with two people strangely interested in the same.
Jon and Shannon settled in for their usual routine, opening the codex to where they had placed a simple bookmark. And sure enough, the pastoral epistles followed as part of the Pauline collection: Pros Timotheon A and B -1 and 2 Timothy-after which they photographed Pros Titon -Titus.
Jon smiled as he found this to be fresh ammunition against critics who claimed that Paul didn’t write the pastorals.
Then came the shortest book in the Bible, Pros Philamona -Philemon-and the anonymous Pros Ebraious -Hebrews. They even managed Iakobou Epistolay -Epistle of James-before lunch.
In the refectory, they were in an expansive mood with the end in sight for their epic project. While they dared not discuss it with the other churchmen and monks with whom they had become increasingly conversant, there was much else by way of luncheon topics-primarily, Jon modestly trying to deflect the praise heaped on him by black-robed fellow diners, all of whom had been present at Hagia Sophia. Before they finished their lunch, the secretary to the Ecumenical Patriarch assured them that His All Holiness would indeed welcome a parting visit from them at 10 a.m. the next day.
Returning to the geniza, they could now coast. Petrou A and B -1 and 2 Peter-quickly succumbed to their photo scrutiny, as did Ioanou A, B, and G -1, 2, and 3 John. The pages of Iouda -Jude-and Apokalypsis Ioanou -Revelation of John-presented some problems, since they were becoming detached from the end of the codex. But with the tenderest care they could offer, Jon and Shannon managed to secure perfect images of these also. Their photography of the codex was finally complete.
A quick look at the rushes that night confirmed successful photography of every page, as did a final scan of the entire codex. The film would have to await development in the States.
Jon now inserted CD-ROMs into his laptop to make three copies of the Constantine Codex: one for Shannon, another for Ferris, the third for himself-in case anything went wrong with his hard drive. He would leave nothing to chance-absolutely nothing.
And yet, a final, nagging problem remained. Simply put, it was how to handle their discovery and, indeed, the codex itself. Eventually, of course, there would be a public announcement, but who should know about it before that announcement? Calling a press conference to break the news was totally out of the question, they knew, and ridiculously premature. Jon had not even translated Second Acts, as yet.
“You know what I’d love to do, Shannon?” he asked.
“Keep the lid on all this as tightly as possible.”
“Just that.”
“And not tell the patriarch?”
Jon thought for some moments, then replied, “We have a moral obligation to tell him, of course. But what if he tells any of his staff? The news would soon be out.”
“Probably so. By the way, what about the codex?”
“Well, we could just put it back where it was and let it sleep until the public announcement, couldn’t we?”
“Not a good plan, Jon. What if they finally do a housecleaning of the geniza? They could easily throw it out. Or how about a fire at the patriarchate burning it to ash? Or a terrorist bomb lobbed in through a basement window?”
“I know; I know.” Then he sighed and said, “How I’d love to just smuggle the codex out of Turkey and bring it safely to the U.S…”
“But-”
“We could put it in your tote bag, cover it with leather goods from the Grand Bazaar, and-”
“But that would be-”
“Just kidding, dear. I could also be caught and imprisoned for trying to steal a priceless antiquity, and wouldn’t that do wonders for our reputation in the scholarly world? Frankly, I don’t look good with numbers under my head.” Then he grew serious and added, “We now have the complete text and can take that home, in any case. But somehow, the codex has to be given VIP treatment at the patriarchate from now on-but in total secrecy, obviously.”
Shannon pondered the problem. “Well, Jon, our one and only option is this: Bartholomew and Gregorios have to be sworn to secrecy, and I’m sure they’ll know how to keep the codex in fine condition in a better environment.”
Jon mulled it over, drumming his fingers. “It’s really the only way, isn’t it?” He returned to his laptop and inserted a fourth disk to make another copy of the Constantine Codex-this one for the patriarch.
Shannon preceded him to bed. After finishing replies to several urgent e-mails, he crawled in as well. Sleep did not come. Too many thoughts were whirling in his brain to allow him to fall asleep easily. He had a strange feeling-hoping against hope that it was not a premonition. Things had developed so very well, no, so magnificently well that they just could not continue. He and Shannon could not be that fortunate, could they?
In any case, their conversation with the Ecumenical Patriarch on the morrow could easily become one of the most intriguing of their lives, he reflected, before dozing off.
“Ah, my good friends,” Bartholomew II said as he extended an openhanded welcome to Jon and Shannon inside his office. “Brother Gregorios tells me you’ve been spending many hours in research here at the patriarchate over the past week. That is good! We are pleased!”
“Thank you for your kindness in permitting it, Your All Holiness,” Jon replied.
“And did you find anything worthwhile? Any lost or previously unknown manuscripts?”
Jon smiled broadly. “Yes, we certainly did.”
“Well, no matter if- what did you say?”
“Yes, Holiness-a very extraordinary manuscript came to light. Are we in private? Can we be overheard?”
Bartholomew quickly moved to close the door and offer seats to his guests. His velvet brown eyes, now arched over with Gothic eyebrows, peered at them with blazing interest. “Now you may speak freely. What is it that you have found?”
“When I tell you, you will understand at once that this information is for yourself only -at least for now-and must not be shared with anyone. I… very respectfully ask your agreement on that.”
“ Nai, nai -yes, yes, of course!”
Only Shannon smiled again at the Greek-English oxymoron.
Jon now unloaded the full account of their week of research. During the telling, Bartholomew’s eyes constricted with intensity as his head began a very slow oscillation from side to side. Scholar that he was, the patriarch instantly caught the significance of the ancient codex and interjected, “One of Constantine’s fifty, you say? Well, then… then it’s greater than the Sinaiticus! Or the Vaticanus!”
Jon could only agree, but when he went on to report that they had found the lost ending of Mark in the codex, Bartholomew’s jaw simply sagged open while he stared at Jon.
“Perhaps a little slower, dear,” Shannon cautioned. “You and I had a week to digest all this, so you really shouldn’t burden the patriarch with so much all at once.”
“Do you mean… do you mean that there may be more?” Bartholomew asked.
Jon nodded. “There is, but I think my wife is right in suggesting that we take a little breather-a break, an interim.” Thank you, Shannon, Jon thought. It wouldn’t be kind to inflict a heart attack on the aging Ecumenical Patriarch.
Bartholomew seemed to descend back to reality. “Some tea? Yes?” he offered, then picked up his cell phone to order it.
Before the second cup of tea, the patriarch had to know more, so Jon resumed his narrative. But when he came to the discovery of Second Acts, Bartholomew’s cup went flying as both his hands seemed to attack his forehead while he bent over his desk in a prayerful posture. Jon was amazed that great news could have the same shock value as very bad news.
When Jon had finished, Bartholomew crossed himself and finally looked up. “Please forgive my bad manners, dear friends, but I am… I am quite overcome with what you report. This is of… staggering importance to the whole Christian church on earth. How… how do you plan to let the world know? And when?”
“Any premature announcement could be disastrous to the cause of serious scholarship, Your Holiness. I think the announcement should come only after we’ve concluded the authenticity tests and are ready with a prepared edition of the codex, an official translation, and a commentary-at least on the new material. The rest can come later.”
He nodded. “Yes, that should come first. And where should the announcement be made when all is ready?”
“Why not from your own patriarchate, here in Istanbul?”
“That is very kind of you, although there may be other options. And what about the codex itself?”
Jon handed Bartholomew a CD copy of the photographs they had taken. “Again, for now, this copy is for your eyes only. Please guard it carefully. The codex itself, of course, is your property, but I would urge that you retrieve it immediately from the ‘manuscript cemetery’ in the basement of the patriarchate and keep it under extreme security in a humidity-controlled vault of some kind. Before any public announcement, we may need the codex in America for a time for evaluation and authenticity tests-not that there is the least chance of forgery, but the world will demand it.”
Bartholomew nodded readily, to Jon’s relief. But then his face darkened as he pursued a different line of thought. “And so this… this incredibly important manuscript has been in our possession-who knows how many centuries?-and we didn’t even know it? This is terrible! This uncovers a great failure in how we manage our archives! Brother Gregorios must answer for this! There is absolutely no excuse for such utter-”
“With all due respect, Your Holiness, this sort of thing happens again and again in many libraries across the world that have manuscript collections. With many thousands of documents and books, things do get misplaced, so please do not let our good fortune become Brother Gregorios’s misfortune!”
Shannon joined the dialogue with an important suggestion. “We would, however, recommend that a very complete inventory be taken of every document and manuscript inside your basement ‘cemetery,’ Your All Holiness. Who knows what additional treasures might be found there! Our Institute of Christian Origins in Cambridge will be glad to assist you in this respect.”
“ Nai, nai, nai! A very good suggestion, Madame Weber. I thank you for it. We certainly will do that very thing. But now we must all go and see the codex, yes?”
The three descended the ornate staircases of the patriarchate and walked to the archives, where Gregorios, without even being asked, hastened over with his keys, knowing full well that their target had to be the basement document charnel house. Without a word, he admitted them. Jon pointed out the various sectors to the patriarch, and presently they stood before the ancient bookcase in the southwest corner. There rested the codex on the bottom shelf, where it had lain for countless, unknown centuries, looking the same as when Shannon first spotted it, except that the gnarled old leather-clad board cover was no longer gray with dust. Very gently, Jon again lifted it off its shelf and carried it to the table where they had photographed it.
The torrent of Greek spouting out of Bartholomew’s mouth as he spoke to Gregorios came too rapidly for Jon to decipher, but it sent the monk running out of the room. Then the Ecumenical Patriarch approached the codex, touched it gently, lovingly, and fell on his knees in prayer before it, doubtless thanking God for its discovery.
When he arose, Jon opened the codex to show him the four magnificently written uncial columns on each page of vellum. He had, of course, opened the tome to the newly found ending of Mark’s Gospel. Bartholomew read several lines, then broke out in tears. In silent, sympathetic reverence, Jon closed the codex and said nothing.
Gregorios returned with a large gilded blanket-probably from their liturgical supply room-but before he could wrap it around the codex, Jon asked him to wait a moment so that he could take final photographs of the cast of characters in this improbable drama: the Ecumenical Patriarch and Brother Gregorios, as well as Jon and Shannon with them. Only then did Gregorios reverently enshrine the codex in the blanket and carry it to the office of the patriarch.
Just as he returned to them in the main reception hall, the Turkish sentry called from outside to say that the government’s car convoy had arrived to transport Jon and Shannon to the airport. The farewells were genuine and even passionate. When Jon stooped to try to kiss the patriarch’s hand-as was customary among the eastern faithful-Bartholomew would not permit it. In most unliturgical fashion, he put his arms around Jon, and with tears in his eyes, he said, “All of Eastern Orthodoxy is grateful to you, dear Professor Weber, not only for defending our faith so brilliantly before a watching world, but also to you both for discovering a most priceless treasure of the church. God has been good to us through you!”
“We, in turn, are grateful for both your original invitation to Constantinople, Your All Holiness, and also for your extraordinary hospitality during our visit here. I know we shall be in frequent touch from now on. And so we say to you and Brother Gregorios, with all the sacred solemnity of our Lord’s use of the term on the night before he was betrayed, ef charisto!”
En route to Ataturk International Airport, Jon and Shannon regaled Dick and Osman with details of their delightful morning at the patriarchate. “Let me tell you, fellas,” Jon said, smiling broadly, “it was quite an honor to be hugged by no less than the eastern pope himself-and even be kissed on both cheeks.”
“I’m sure he won’t wash his face for weeks,” Shannon chirped.
Everyone in the car seemed to be in an expansive mood, and why not? They were finally returning home, knowing secrets that would make for a fabulous future.
When their motorcade arrived at the airport, the doors of the lead car opened, and out stepped Adnan Yilmaz, the Turkish minister of culture, with several aides. In a formal, nicely crafted little speech, he apologized to Jon and Shannon, in the name of the Republic of Turkey, for the terrorist attack at their hotel and hoped that they might return to Turkey with no bitter memories.
For his part, Jon was very genuine in his appreciation of how well the Turks had cooperated in terms of security before, during, and after the debate, and he apologized to all whose schedules had been brutally wrenched because of their visit-including especially their drivers. He would later say the same, of course, to all the CIA operatives-especially Click and Clack, who had kept them alive during their visit to a chancy part of the world.
Just before they checked in at the departure hall, Yilmaz said, “It should all go well from here on.” Then he handed Jon his card. “But call my cell if you have any problems.”
“Thanks much, Mr. Yilmaz!”
Bags checked and with boarding passes and passports in hand, Osman, Dick, and Shannon were ahead of Jon in the security line, which moved along better than they had expected. After shedding shoes, laptops, change, and sundry metallic items, they reached the metal-detecting doorframe. Jon asked that his camera bag full of film canisters and photo memory cards be passed around rather than through the frame. In earlier years, he had had too many high-speed films ruined by X-ray exposure in more primitive scanners. This looked to be one of them, and he didn’t trust it. If those photos were ruined, only one set on earth remained.
When Jon tried to hand the photo bag around the frame, the security guard said, “No. Must go through X-ray machine.”
“But I’ll be glad to let you examine everything inside this bag,” Jon replied.
“ No! Must go through X-ray!” the guard fairly shouted and tried to take the bag out of Jon’s hands to pass it onto the belt going through the scanner. Jon held on for dear life.
The guard blew a shrill whistle. A squad of guards quickly surrounded the security line and was closing in on Jon. He snatched his cell phone before the gray plastic box with his metallic effects went through the scanner and madly reached in his pocket for Adnan’s card. That move prompted the guards to take out their revolvers and aim them at Jon. He held up both arms while trying also to dial Adnan, his photo bag between his legs. The other three looked on in horror. It was a very bad moment.
Yilmaz, thank goodness, answered his cell.
“This is an emergency, Adnan!” Jon yelled into his cell phone. “I’m being held at gunpoint in security because I wanted my films passed around the scanner, not through it!”
Adnan yelled some curse in Turkish, then said, “Dr. Weber, give your cell to whomever is in charge of security there. I’ll explain!”
Jon handed his cell phone to the officer who seemed to have the most metal on his shoulders. Frowning and skeptical, he put it to his ear and said, “Merhaba…” Since he knew no Turkish, all Jon heard was a long recitation of “Evet… Evet… Evet…” then a shocked “Hayir!”
Finally the officer, now sheepish, handed the phone back to Jon. Said Adnan in the receiver, “I told him that if they didn’t release you at once -with apologies-my next call would be to the prime minister of this republic! I’m coming back now to make sure all is in order.”
“Thank you, Adnan-if I may. But I don’t think that will be necessary.”
While he had been talking, the officer stepped over to the rude security scanner, slapped him on both cheeks, and relieved him from duty. Then he returned to Jon and said, “In the name of Allah the All Compassionate, I ask your forgiveness, Professor Weber. This should never have happened.”
“It is nothing. Thank you for your help.”
Jon’s expansive mood returned when he saw his photo case being passed around the scanner and into his hands.
The next meeting of the Institute of Christian Origins took place a week after the four had returned to Cambridge. Now fully recovered from jet lag, Jon was eager to learn the American reaction to the debate, and the forty-some members attending that morning were only too happy to oblige.
It seemed that more Americans had watched the debate than the seventh game of the World Series the previous October, and far more than the Academy Awards in March-yes, despite the extraordinary length of the debate, which exceeded even that of the awards, Hollywood’s annual attempt to model eternity. With so huge an audience, every shade and stripe of response was being collated by several secretaries at the ICO, but Jon and Shannon got a general picture from the comments of institute members, prompting a long discussion over the next several hours.
A large secular sector of the viewing audience thought it “engrossing… good theater,” but no one expected such to join church or mosque once they had switched off their TVs. The general Christian response was overwhelmingly positive, although fundamentalists complained that Jon had not sufficiently “proclaimed Christ in that citadel of Satan,” while radical liberals like Harry Nelson Hunt objected, “Too bad Weber couldn’t have gotten beyond that Trinity thing. It’s been a millstone around the neck of Christianity for twenty centuries now. And Weber even seems to believe in the Resurrection-a Harvard professor, no less!”
“I plead guilty!” Jon laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.
Heinz von Schwendener commented, a twinkle in his indigo eyes, “I think the most careful, in fact, the finest response to your debate that I’ve heard, Jon, came from the mouth of… Melvin Morris Merton.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Heinz!” Richard Ferris thundered. Everyone knew that Merton was a prophecy freak who had always been Jon’s nemesis.
Barely able to keep a straight face, von Schwendener continued, “Merton announced that the debate was a meeting of the ‘Two Antichrists.’ I don’t know where he got that idea, maybe somewhere in Revelation. But there you were, both of you sitting in the temple of God-guess he meant Hagia Sophia-so the second coming of Christ and the end of the world are just around the corner!” Then his shoulders shook with released laughter.
Jon and the rest joined in. If an institute could have a court jester, Heinz von Schwendener filled the bill for the ICO.
Next, Osman al-Ghazali, who had spent the week assembling reactions from the Muslim world, gave his report, which was a shade more sobering. Jon and Shannon had received daily updates after the debate, but these were the first details many institute members had heard about the Muslim reaction.
“The Islamic response-to put it mildly-is less nuanced than what we’ve just heard from the West. They seem to love you or hate you, Jon. The moderates, the leading intellectuals, and the secular leaders thought it a very fair debate, and they particularly appreciated the near-friendly atmosphere you developed with al-Rashid. Some thought it a model for future Christian-Muslim dialogue.” Sounds of approval rose from those gathered.
Osman went on. “Then, of course, there’s the broad middle of Islam. The faithful there seemed to range from neutral to bewildered. We’ve heard reports of believers rising from their prayer mats to ask some penetrating questions of their mullahs regarding the Prophet and the Qur’an.”
“But I find it interesting,” Shannon interposed, “that the reaction from the Islamic conservatives was not as vocal as we anticipated. Right, Osman?”
He nodded. “Most of the noise is coming from the radical clerics-those we call our ‘usual suspects’-the firebrand mullahs in London, radical cells elsewhere in Europe, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, jihadists in the Middle East, the Taliban in Afghanistan, and, of course, al-Qaeda wherever. Actually, they’re attacking Abbas al-Rashid nearly as much as you, Jon. It’s almost as if we’re back to where we started. Well, things are a bit better; we don’t have another fatwa on Jon’s head, for example.”
“At least, not yet,” Jon offered, helpfully. “Fanaticism, in any form, replaces reason with madness. It’s the greatest enemy of truth ever devised.”
Lunch and a backlog of business consumed the rest of the day. At the close, Jon made an announcement that he knew his conferees would find startling. “Two items, my colleagues. One, thank you all once again for your deliberations and advice during the weeks before the debate in Istanbul. Two, which you may find more interesting, Shannon and I came across something of extraordinary importance during our time in Turkey that I want to share with you once we’ve arranged everything. I know that our next meeting isn’t scheduled until two months from now, but might we make an exception and hold a special conclave-I hate to say it-about three weeks from today? I well realize this is terribly short notice and your schedules may not permit it at all, but that’s how very significant this matter is.”
For some time, silence ruled the room. But then Katrina Vandersteen coaxed, “Come on, Jon, give us a little hint…?”
“You’ll understand when you hear what it is, Trina.” Jon grinned at her. Then he reconsidered. “Well… on second thought, I guess I’ll have to give you a bit of a hint anyway since I’ll need your permission to invite a few guests. Might you members of the ICO be kind enough to allow members of the Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts to join us for that meeting?”
Much oohing, aahing, and nodding at the clue signaled an affirmative.
“Another semi-hint: the Eastern Orthodox Church is already involved in this matter, so I think it only fair that Roman Catholicism be represented also. I have a close friend at the Vatican-Monsignor Kevin Sullivan-whom I’ve also asked to fly over and attend- if you agree. Would that be acceptable?”
Agreement seemed unanimous, punctuated by comments like “I don’t have a problem with that.” “Of course, Jon.” “Why not?”
Pleased with the response, Jon said, “Fine. Dick will be in touch as to the specific date and time.”
The conference adjourned. Had an artist rendered the scene in a cartoon, he would have drawn thought clouds over each head with just two characters: a question mark and an exclamation point.
Shannon was uncharacteristically glad for the ICO meeting to adjourn. Ever since their return from Turkey, Jon had been busy at work translating Second Acts. After a day or two battling jet lag-it was always worse on the homebound trip-he had taken a happy plunge back into the AD 300s, to see what a scribe in Caesarea, writing for an emperor in Rome, would have to say to them in Massachusetts-and of course, to future Bible readers everywhere.
As they drove to the ICO meeting, he told her he had translated the first third of Luke’s final treatise, and he planned to let her read it when they got home. The text had proven so challenging that they both agreed it would be best to wait until he had a good chunk of it completed for her to read, rather than his trying to share it word for word, as he’d tried to do at first.
While driving back to their still-guarded home in Weston, Jon resisted all of Shannon’s efforts to pry any nuggets of information out of him.
“No, darling, I really think it’s best if you read it for yourself. Although, I admit I got so caught up in the account that I couldn’t resist adding paragraph divisions in the text, as well as some of my own comments-in brackets, of course, or at the margins. Obviously, they’ll be removed when the text goes public. I really can’t wait to hear your reaction.”
Shannon could hardly wait and had earlier been tempted to tease out a translation for herself. But Jon’s printout, presented on their return home, was much more convenient.
“Here’s what I have so far, sweetheart,” Jon said. “Our final, authoritative version will look much more biblical in format, and I left out a few ‘he said,’ ‘she replied’-that sort of thing. Chapter and verse divisions can come later too.”
She took a deep breath, walked over to the sofa, and started to read. This third treatise, O Theophilus, deals with all that befell Paul after Aristarchus and I arrived with him in Rome, where we lived in his own rented house near the Praetorian camp for two years, awaiting his trial before Caesar. No one from the priests and the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem had come to Rome to speak against Paul in his appeal to Caesar, for they preferred that he simply languish in house arrest. But our Lord intervened. On the Ides of May, in the eighth year of Nero Caesar [May 15, AD 62] we learned that Titus Flavius Sabinus, the prefect of Rome [mayor of the city!] whose wife was a believer, asked the emperor to hear Paul’s appeal. He agreed, provided that his friend Ofonius Tigellinus could serve as substitute accuser [prosecutor] and Sabinus himself as defender. It was agreed. At Paul’s hearing, a board of assessors served as advisers to the emperor, including the philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca. Paul took great heart at this, because Seneca was the brother of Gallio, the very proconsul of Achaia who had heard Paul’s case in Corinth ten years previous and had set him free, as noted in my second treatise [Acts 18]. Tigellinus, who had read the documents of indictment against Paul that the centurion Julius had saved from our shipwreck on the way to Rome, now stood up and said, “Hail, beloved Caesar, you who guide our empire and our lives with the same wisdom that Jupiter employs for the world itself; you who have spread the marvelous blanket of peace and prosperity over all provinces surrounding Our Sea [the Mediterranean]. We thank you for all you have done to make Rome glorious. But now, so as not to detain you, this defendant-one Paul of Tarsus, a Jew-had the insolence to appeal to you from the courts of our procurators in Judea, Felix and then Festus, because of accusations made against him by the Jewish high priests in Jerusalem.” Nero Caesar asked, “Is he really a Roman citizen?” Flavius Sabinus produced a record from the city clerk in Tarsus, attesting that this was so. “What are the charges, then?” Caesar asked. Tigellinus read them word for word from Julius’s documents: namely, that Paul was a pestilent agitator among Jews throughout the world and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes. Caesar asked, “And who are the Nazarenes?” “Most now call them ‘Christians,’ noble Caesar,” Tigellinus replied. “Oh yes-the Christians. I’ve heard of them. Continue.” Tigellinus returned to his document and said, “He even tried to profane the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem by bringing a Gentile inside the sacred Temple boundaries.” Nero Caesar then said to Paul, “Oh yes, you Jews can get very exclusive. I’ve heard that even if I myself stepped over that barrier in Jerusalem, you Jews could kill me since-alas, I am a Gentile. I must keep reminding my dear Poppaea of that, since the empress is very interested in Jewish ways. But do continue, good Tigellinus. What penalty are you seeking for this… this Paul of Tarsus?” Tigellinus replied, “The death penalty of course, noble Caesar.” “Very well, then. The defense may speak,” said the emperor. Flavius Sabinus arose and said, “My governing the city of Rome is so much more pleasant due to your wise administration of the entire Empire, great Caesar. The people of Rome and all the urban officers are most grateful to you. I, too, have examined the documents against Paul of Tarsus and would ask that you immediately dismiss the second and the third charges. “The second charge, O Caesar, that Paul of Tarsus is a ‘ringleader of the Christians’ means little or nothing, since Christians are just a Jewish sect that has never been rendered illegal by any law of the senate and the Roman people. As for the third charge, the defendant did not violate Jewish law by introducing a Gentile into the sacred courts of the Jerusalem Temple because it was a fellow Jew with Paul who was mistaken for a Gentile by Paul’s accusers. Here is the deposition on that matter from our tribune in Jerusalem, one Claudius Lysias [Acts 23:26].” Sabinus handed Nero the document, and he said, “I respectfully ask that you dismiss these two charges, great Caesar.” Nero consulted with his assessors, particularly Seneca, for some time. Finally he announced, “We do indeed dismiss them. Now what is this first charge, that this Paul causes riots wherever he goes? Tigellinus, give us more information on that.” “As suffering and death follow the plague, noble Caesar, so rioting and disorder erupt wherever this agitator travels. In Asia Minor, he was driven out of Antioch in Pisidia. Then he was attacked in Iconium and stoned in Lystra. Next he carried the disease to Greece. They had to imprison him in Philippi and expel him from Thessalonica. He caused a riot among Jews in Corinth and silversmiths in Ephesus. He created his last uproar-thank the Fates-in Jerusalem, where he was arrested.” The emperor was amazed and said, “This one man did all these things-a man that small could cause such big trouble?” “Yes, and much more, wise Caesar. Rome has not had such a treasonable troublemaker since Spartacus himself!” Caesar then asked Flavius Sabinus for the defense. He stood up and said, “Paul of Tarsus has never caused a riot anywhere, great Caesar. He only proclaimed the Christian message of peace everywhere he went, but those who disagreed with him and were unwilling to open their minds to accept what he calls the Good News often tried to stop him by resorting to violence. They caused the disturbances, not this innocent Roman citizen.” “So,” said the emperor, “what is this ‘Good News’ that you teach, Paul of Tarsus?” Paul rose and said, “Long have I waited for this opportunity to tell you, O Caesar, but I knew that one day I would stand before you since the God who made heaven and earth promised that I would do so. And here I am. He is the God of the Jews, yet also of the Gentiles-the supreme Father of the universe-who made us all and preserves us all. But because we, his children, fell into wickedness and disobedience, he might have destroyed us all in his anger. Yet in his great mercy, he decided to save humankind by sending us a Savior-the emanation of God himself in the form of Jesus of Nazareth. Although Jesus lived a perfect life, he was unjustly condemned and crucified by one of your governors, Pontius Pilate. But God raised him from the dead, as he will do for all who believe in him, and this is the Good News that he has commanded us all to proclaim to all men everywhere.” Caesar looked at him strangely and said, “Do you really believe all this, Paul of Tarsus? What proof do you have that this is not some daydream? Or nightmare?” Paul now told of his conversion on the road to Damascus in words similar to those I recorded several times in my second treatise to you, O Theophilus [Acts 9, 22, and 26]. When he had finished, Tigellinus said, “This man must have mental afflictions, illustrious Caesar, and we must not let this Christian delusion of his take root in Rome.” Said Caesar, “This does seem to be true, Tigellinus. What do you have to say for yourself, Paul of Tarsus?” “This is not delusion but divine truth, O Caesar. And I have done nothing worthy of death or further imprisonment, as one of your own assessors here should be able to confirm.” “And who might that be?” “I call on your wise tutor and adviser, Annaeus Seneca, who honors me with his presence today. Your own brother Gallio, dear Seneca, judged my case ten years ago in Corinth and found me totally innocent. Surely he must have mentioned this to you?” Seneca replied, “Yes, I seem to remember that. My brother is back in Rome, and I will get further details from him.” “Finally, honored Caesar, I will ask my traveling companion-his name is Luke-to provide a copy of the statement made by King Agrippa II, who heard my case in Caesarea about three years ago. The king is Jewish and should therefore best be able to judge my guilt or innocence.” I then presented a copy of what I had previously written in my second treatise [Acts 26:31-32]: “‘This man is doing nothing to deserve death or imprisonment.’ And Agrippa said to Festus, ‘This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.’” Now we waited for Nero to give his judgment. The evidence showed that Paul was clearly innocent, but Tigellinus, the accuser [prosecutor], was Nero’s closest friend, and Caesar wanted to reward him. He made a show of consulting with his assessors, but then he announced his decision as to condemnation or absolution. “Paul of Tarsus,” he said, “I herewith condem… I con… I ca…” He stopped speaking. His face grew red, and he started coughing. Then he said softly, “I absolve you.” God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, again stood by Paul to control Caesar’s speech, and he was set free. All the brethren in Rome rejoiced that he had been restored to them, offering prayers of thanksgiving to God, who had again delivered his servant. We remained in Rome for several months, confirming fellow believers in the faith, and then we left the city in great joy for Puteoli [on the Bay of Naples], where we spent another week with the brethren there. Then we found a ship bound for Spain and set sail aboard it.
Shannon put down the translation and realized she’d been quietly weeping. She wiped her eyes, shaking her head back and forth in awe over what she had just read. Finally she said, “So that’s what happened after the record in Acts breaks off! Jon, this is just… fabulous new information-absolutely fabulous! But help me a bit with these new characters. Seneca I know, but who is that Tigellinus character?”
“Seneca and Tigellinus were the good and bad influences, respectively, in Nero’s life. Seneca tutored young Nero and really did a great job of running the Roman government for the first five years of Nero’s administration while that teenager was still growing up. But shortly after the events you just read, Seneca retired because Tigellinus, the nasty new prefect of the Praetorian guard, was gaining more and more influence over Nero. From then on, that walking glob of garbage pandered to Nero’s every whim and seduced him into the debauchery for which he would later become notorious.”
“Well, maybe that explains why Nero doesn’t seem to be the brutal monster here that we usually expect, even though his bias for Tigellinus was pretty disgusting. But in your translation, he seems almost ‘normal,’ shall we say?”
“Yes, he was. Exactly. Seneca ran Rome for Nero’s first five years-wrote his speeches, handled his appearances-and he did such a great job of it that the later emperor Trajan would claim that the quinquennium Neronis -the first five years of Nero-were the finest government Rome ever had. And Trajan was right: Seneca was also the great Stoic philosopher, you’ll recall.”
“And was he really Gallio’s brother?”
“Yep!”
“Why didn’t they have a common name, then?”
“Gallio’s original name was Annaeus Novatus, brother of Annaeus Seneca, but he was adopted by a wealthy, childless senator named Lucius Junius Gallio the Elder. The one who judged Paul was Gallio the Younger.”
“And Paul knew all that?”
“He must have, which probably is why he appealed to the tribunal of Nero in the first place. Paul had some kind of friend at court-the very brother of the man who had set him free in Corinth!”
Shannon grinned and nodded. “That Paul was a survivor. But one of the arguments raised on his behalf was that Christianity was not illegal. If so, then why did Nero persecute believers? He’s notorious for that.”
“This is AD 62, Shannon. The Great Fire of Rome didn’t ignite until July of 64, two years later. When Nero got blamed for that, he switched the blame to the Christians in order to save himself. Christianity was illegal only from that point on.”
“And that Flavius Sabinus person? Was he really mayor of Rome at that time? And a Christian?”
“‘Yes’ to the first, and ‘we’re not sure’ for the second. His mother-in-law was Christian, and his sons definitely were since one of them died as a martyr. But I haven’t told you yet who his brother was, have I?”
“No, but I didn’t ask.”
“Ask.”
“Okay, who was Sabinus’s brother?”
“Merely a fellow named Flavius Vespasian, the future emperor of Rome.”
She laughed. “Oh, Jon, this is unbelievable. That part of Second Acts pulls it all together, doesn’t it, like some kind of crossroads of the past.”
“Now you see why I’m just a wee bit excited over all this?” Then he stopped smiling and added, “It’s just… so sad that the church couldn’t have had this document over most of the past centuries.”
Three weeks later, Jon called to order the special session of the Institute of Christian Origins and welcomed twelve guest scholars from the Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts. He also introduced Monsignor Kevin Sullivan, who had flown in from Rome. Under one roof, then, were many of the world’s finest experts on textual scholarship. Some had been on translation committees of such modern New Testament versions as the RSV, NRSV, TEB, NIV, Jerusalem Bible, ESV, NLT, and an alphabet soup of others. Almost all had managed to massage their schedules, simply canceling any impediments in view of the important announcement they suspected was awaiting them in Cambridge.
“Ladies and gentlemen-fellow scholars,” Jon opened, “I thank you all for disrupting previous plans in order to be present today. I hope you’ll find that effort more than rewarded. What I’ll announce shortly is something so unparalleled, so very extraordinary, that your critical faculties must immediately question these discoveries, and I actually look forward to any decent skepticism in that regard.”
Smiles broke out around the two long boardroom tables that had been set up.
“When you do digest the tidings I bring- and if you’re able to put your skepticism on a short tether-your first impulse will be to call home, call friends and colleagues, call your university, or call the media. Doing so, however, will only complicate the very exciting task ahead of us. And so I’m pleading for a latter-day miracle, namely, that even though there are fifty-eight people in this room, we maintain strict secrecy until we’ve made all appropriate preparations prior to a general announcement to the world. Might we agree on that?”
The last phrase raised a buzz around both tables, along with the expected affirmations. The irrepressible von Schwendener, sitting to the chair’s left, whispered, “What is this, Jon-another Dead Sea Scrolls discovery?”
“No, Heinz, it’s much more important than that.”
“What?” he erupted in hardly a whisper.
Jon resumed. “Since context is of utmost importance, let’s begin by giving you the background of what we found. First, archaeologist Shannon Jennings Weber-who also happens to be my wife-will discuss her dig at Pella last summer.”
Shannon summarized her experiences in the Trans-Jordan, focusing on her serendipitous trip to the little Greek Orthodox church, her dialogue with the priest in charge, and her discovery of the Hegesippus copy that mentioned Luke’s third treatise to Theophilus, presumably “Second Acts.” This raised a fusillade of questions from the group, many of them answered when she flashed a slide of the manuscript page involved on a screen at the end of the conference room.
“This gave us the first hint that our New Testament canon might not be entirely complete,” Shannon concluded. “Yet later, when Jon and I were on our manuscript hunt this past summer and inquired of archivists and authorities at Athens, Meteora, and Mount Athos, no one had ever heard of a second Acts, and so it dropped from our ‘desktop,’ so to speak.”
“Did you find any other references to it since then?” asked Henry Innes MacAdam of Princeton.
“Stay tuned, Mac,” Shannon said with a little smile.
Next, Jon reported briefly on their experiences at the other Greek archives but devoted the lion’s share of his time to their dialogues with Bartholomew II and their experiences at his Ecumenical Patriarchate in Istanbul. His graphic report was only enhanced as he flashed image after image on the screen of the patriarchate. When he reached the geniza, however, the room stilled to a hush. These scholars knew that this was where many great discoveries had been made in the past.
They were not disappointed. First Jon showed a series of photographs of the ancient bookstand in the southwest corner of the room, then a close-up shot of the codex itself. Several photographs of the codex followed after it had been placed on the worktable.
Jon would have signaled a drum roll, if such had been available, for he announced, “The next photograph, my colleagues, you will never forget.” On a full screen, he projected the title page of the codex and waited silently for it to sink in.
One by one, little whimpers of recognition broke out along both tables as they translated the Greek, then louder and louder comments until Jon finally said, “Yes, my friends. As you have no doubt discerned for yourselves, this is one of the fifty copies of the New Testament that the Emperor Constantine authorized Eusebius of Caesarea to prepare on the finest vellum available!”
After a moment of sepulchral silence, boisterous applause broke out at the conference tables. Edwin Yamauchi of Oxford exclaimed, “Good heavens! Scholars have been searching for one of those ever since textual scholarship began with Erasmus in the sixteenth century! Please tell us you have the entire Bible here.”
“Wish I could, Ed. But here’s a consolation prize: how about the entire… New… Testament?”
Bedlam took over the chamber. There was cheering and roaring and raucous celebration. Jon finally had to remonstrate, tongue in cheek, “Tsk, tsk, my colleagues. As critical scholars, aren’t we supposed to be cool and dispassionate about this?”
When the chuckling ceased, Jon continued. “Well, my friends, all future editions of the Greek New Testament will have to take this manuscript into account.” He flashed page after page of the beautiful four columns of Greek on vellum. “Obviously, we now have one of the great uncial codices of the New Testament, which is clearly the equal-if not the superior-of the Sinaiticus, the Vaticanus, and the Alexandrinus.”
“Oh, that’s for sure,” Brendan Rutledge said. “I think this, not the Sinaiticus, could well be the new aleph!” He referred to the “a” symbol designating the first and greatest uncial text.
“Now jest a cotton-pickin’ minute,” called out Jesse Trumbull of New Orleans Baptist Seminary. “We’ve all heard the expression, ‘This is too good to be true,’ and then that lit’rally is the case: not true! Professor Weber has shown us some mighty intriguin’ material here, but it’s only slides and images-not the actual document itself. Now I’m sure he doesn’t mean to trick us, but aren’t we all critical scholars here? Why do we fall all over ourselves to assume that this is authentic and then go hollerin’ and cheerin’ and carryin’ on? Remember Bernard Madoff? He was the best in the business when it came to Wall Street-until they found out that he was only the biggest Ponzi around. Hey, I’m not sayin’ that Jon’s any Madoff, and all this may be right as rain, but don’t we have to ask the good professor about the codex itself and its whereabouts?”
“Yes, I think we do,” Jon responded, smiling. “And I’m so glad you brought this up, Jesse. Shannon and I were also somewhat skeptical at first, but when we photographed page after page after page, we realized that this could not possibly be forged. Still, we plan to do appropriate authenticity testing of the codex itself as soon as we can. And in answer to your question about its location, we left it with the Ecumenical Patriarch in Istanbul, since it is the property of the Eastern Orthodox Church. To be sure, we gave him some firm suggestions as to optimal security arrangements and preservation of that extraordinary document.”
“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Trumbull replied.
“Have you read it all yet, Jon?” Sally Humiston wondered.
“‘Checked it all out’ might be the best answer, though I have read some parts in much greater detail than others. The material reflects the same general manuscript tradition as the Sinaiticus, but with several very important differences: our codex, for example, does not include the Epistle of Barnabas or Shepherd of Hermas as does the Sinaiticus.”
“What does it include?” Mac MacAdam asked.
“Simply and happily, all twenty-seven books of our canonical New Testament-no more, no less.” Then he caught himself and added, “No, sorry. I misspoke.”
“You did?” Mac persisted. “Would you care to unpack that?”
Jon paused for several moments, then said, “Well, I guess it’s time to unload another little surprise for you.” He pressed a button on his laptop and flashed more columns of beautiful, uncial Greek onto the screen. It was the last chapter of Mark. “Here we have the last chapter of Mark from the codex,” he added.
For some time, the room was silent, since the Greek lettering, while clear, was very difficult to decipher in its run-together form.
“Anyone notice anything amiss?” Jon finally asked.
The eagle eye of Trina Vandersteen suddenly picked it up. “Hold it!” she said. “There’s too much material there-it should be only eight verses’ worth, no? You’ve got-what?-looks like almost three times that much text.”
Jon nodded, letting the implications slowly sink in.
Von Schwendener suddenly exploded. “Omigosh! Give us a break, Jon. You’re not going to tell us that… that this is the lost ending of Mark, are you?”
Quietly he replied, “You’ve got it, Heinz.”
A wild potpourri of surprise and awe filled the room, supposedly staid scholars ripping off their glasses or putting them on-depending on their ocular needs-as they tried to scan the text more closely.
Several minutes later, Jon announced, “I’m passing out my rough translation of the lost ending, although I’m sure one of the committees to come out of this group will do a better job.”
Silence reigned as each read the words Mark had actually written at the close of his Gospel. Scholars joined other scholars sitting nearby in a sudden buzz of discussion that picked up tempo and intensity.
Brendan Rutledge spoke up first. “Tends to support the Synoptic hypothesis, doesn’t it?”
Jon smiled at this and winked at Shannon.
Daniel Wallace, from the Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts, raised his hand. “Thanks, Jon, for inviting our group to this historic occasion. And I don’t use that adjective lightly, since there’s no question but that this codex, if authentic, is the greatest find in centuries of textual scholarship. Our group has dreamed of coming across a text like this, yet we dismissed it as wishful thinking. We were wrong! Now, what do you propose as a modus operandi for this discovery?”
“Thanks, Dan! I was coming to that.” Jon distributed another handout. “I propose that we establish a ‘Mark 16 Blue Ribbon Task Force’ and charge it with items listed on what I’ve just distributed.”
The conferees read: • Compare the uncial lettering of the new material in this manuscript with the Markan text immediately preceding it. This will determine if another ancient hand tried to supply the ending, as happened subsequently in later texts. • Do a complete linguistic analysis of these verses, again comparing them with the grammar and syntax in the rest of the Markan text. • Provide an authoritative translation of these final verses into English. (Other translations can follow later.) • Write an official commentary on these verses, explaining how Mark’s ending had originally been lost-if true-and the significance of these verses for Synoptic scholarship and especially in the reportage of the resurrection of Jesus.
The silence was quickly broken. “Hear, hear!” “Good plan!” “Let’s do it” and other affirmatives welled up from both tables. Just before lunch, the ICO and CSNTM had even appointed twenty of their finest New Testament scholars to the task force. To these, Jon handed out enhanced digital images of all pages of Mark’s Gospel in the codex.
“Just remember, good colleagues,” Jon cautioned, “every last page of the codex is now copyrighted-my Harvard colleague Alan Dershowitz prepared an airtight instrument for us-so don’t run off to publishers and try to get rich on Mark!”
Jon was smiling and the rest chuckled, but amid the mirth the message was quite loud and quite clear.
Not one person in the group recalled, a year later, what they had eaten for their catered lunch. They were less diners and more a buzzing beehive of excitement over the codex.
Sitting adjacent from Jon and Shannon, von Schwendener asked, “Anything important for this afternoon, Jon? Or can we wrap it up early? I’d like to catch the four o’clock train for New Haven.”
Sure, take off, Yalie yahoo, Jon thought, and miss more of the biggest story of your life! But all he said, charitably, was “Try to stick around, Heinz.”
Jon began the afternoon session by flashing two pages from the codex on the screen side by side: the last page of Acts and the first of Second Acts, though with the title hidden. The two pages simply hung on the screen for endless moments, but this time no one got the message. Kevin Sullivan knew, of course, but he held his tongue.
“All right,” Jon said. “I suppose I’d best drop a hint. The left-hand page is the close of Praxeis Apostolon…”
“Okay,” Rutledge offered. “Acts of the Apostles…”
“Right, Brandon.” Jon flipped a switch. “And what’s the title of the next book on the opposite side-Romans?”
Rutledge stared. “It’s… Praxeis Apostolon Beta… Beta? What in the world?”
Sally Humiston screamed something unintelligible, followed by a more coherent “Not Acts 2? I mean, Second Acts? That reference in Hegesippus that Shannon found?”
Jon caught Shannon’s eyes and grinned and nodded.
“It’s really in that codex?” Sally asked, almost shouting.
“Yes it is, Sal.”
Silence in the room was deafening. The conclave of world-class scholars sat around the conference tables collectively stunned, many with open mouths and wide eyes.
Finally Edwin Yamauchi collected himself enough to ask, “Well, what does it say? Have you been able to read it?”
“Yes, we have, Ed,” Jon replied. “It’s shorter than our lengthy book of Acts. Luke beautifully ties down all the threads he left hanging in Acts. It turns out that he faithfully stayed with Paul for the rest of his days, so it has all the eyewitness appeal of his previous writings. It begins with a precis of Paul’s trial before Nero-and the fascinating reason he had appealed to Nero in the first place-and then goes on to his acquittal-yes, his acquittal! Their voyage to Spain followed. They landed there at Valencia-Valentia in those days-where they spent fourteen months establishing a mission that not only survived but flourished.”
Heads shook in bewilderment. Looks were exchanged around the tables, until finally everyone turned toward Jon to hear if there was any more.
Jon resumed. “From there we have something of a fourth missionary journey, when Paul and Luke sailed first to Sicily and then on to Crete, where Paul ordained Titus to carry on the work there. Then it was back to Miletus and Ephesus, where Timothy rejoined them, Paul all the while confirming early Christians in the faith.
“Again he faced opposition in Ephesus-why in the world couldn’t he have stayed out of that trouble spot?-but this time a human glob of scum named Alexander the Coppersmith got all the metalworkers in Ephesus to riot against Paul once again, as they had in Acts 19. But this turned out to be a dangerous embarrassment to the Roman governor of Asia because Nero was just across the Aegean at the time, giving his infamous concert tour of Greece in the year 65. So Paul was quickly arrested and shipped off to Rome again, where he was imprisoned for the second time.
“This time, though, Paul was in mortal danger because the Great Fire of Rome had broken out the year before, for which Nero blamed the Christians to save his own hide. Now they were outlawed. And now Paul stood trial again, not before Nero-who was still singing his recitals in Greece, if you can believe it-but before Nero’s man Helius, who condemned Paul to death. And yes, he was indeed taken out on the Ostian Way and executed about a mile outside the Ostian Gate-where the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls stands today. Constantine was right on target when he built the original basilica where he did.
“Well, that was a long speech, but I wanted to hit the high points of what’s in Second Acts.”
Dead silence continued until Katrina Vandersteen put her head down on the conference table and broke out sobbing. Others also had tears either in their eyes or coursing down their cheeks, so strong were the emotional currents swirling through the room on that memorable day. Jon, however, knew there were two reasons for Vandersteen’s tears; she had just completed a commentary on the Book of Acts and sent it off to her publisher, but now it had become virtually obsolete.
A pall of shock continued to shroud the conference. It was like breaking the news to Bartholomew II all over again, this time multiplied by the fifty-eight people present in that crowded room. Jon knew he was seeing church history made that day, as, very slowly, each one present came to terms with the implications not only of the rediscovered ending to Mark, but of Second Acts as well. Both of them could conceivably be added to the canon of Holy Scripture, provided the texts warranted it.
Predictably von Schwendener broke the silence. “I think I’ll take the four o’clock back to New Haven, Jon-next Tuesday.”
Jon chuckled. “No, Heinz, we just can’t have you on our hands that long! Now, patient colleagues, I’m passing out my preliminary translation of Second Acts. I finally completed that task-and it was a task!-yesterday. Please know that it’s not an authoritative translation, just a possible first draft. Now, if you’ll permit, I think we should take a break so you can all read it. I think you’ll… well, I think you’ll be entranced.”
When they had finished the reading and refilled their coffee cups, all wanted to know: “Where’s the final scene? Or did Luke break off just before Paul’s execution-and leave us hanging again?”
“No, he provided it all,” Jon replied. “I merely wanted the opportunity to read it aloud to you first. It’s very, very… moving.” He picked up his script and read: When word came that Paul was to be executed, Timothy, Mark, and I, as well as elders of the church at Rome, accompanied Paul on his final journey from the Castra Praetoria, where he had been imprisoned, to the Ostian Gate at the south of Rome. He wore a purple cloak that Lydia had made for him. We passed through the gate and walked a Sabbath day’s journey down the Ostian Way to avoid the curious. Finally we came to a green, open spot called the Waters of Sage, which the centurion approved. Paul now took leave of us all and commended the church to God. He said, “This is only the beginning of a cause that will one day become far greater than the Roman Empire. The Caesars will perish, but Christ will triumph, my beloved, and you will all be his ambassadors in building the greatest structure this world has ever seen: the holy Christian church. And we will all see each other again in the paradise that he has prepared for us. So do not weep for me, but comfort one another with these words.” When the centurion said that all was ready, Paul said, “The time of my departure has come, my beloved friends. As I once wrote you, Timothy, I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith. And now the prize is waiting for me-the crown of righteousness that the Lord, the perfect Judge, will award to me on that great day. And not to me only, but to you as well-and all who await his coming. May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” Then he fell to his knees, bared his neck, and bowed his head in prayer, saying, “Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.” The centurion raised his sword with both hands and brought it down in one strong sweep. In our anguish, we buried this greatest apostle in a sepulchre nearby that was provided by one of the elders of the church. On his breast we placed a small cross of wood, the emblem of what has become the center of everything he preached and taught. Then we returned to Rome, grieving and yet thanking and praising God for having given us so great a representative of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. Thanks be to God.
Jon’s voice broke toward the end, and he found it difficult to regain his composure. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “That’s it, my colleagues. Now I’ll pass out these final two pages of my translation. Please add it to the others.”
A sacred silence hovered over the conference tables, not one voice daring to break the mood of profound awe. All had returned to Cambridge at Jon’s request, expecting that they would, no doubt, be privy to some fascinating discovery, but Jon knew that the codex and its surprises were vastly more than they could ever have anticipated. It was almost as if their minds were now out of breath, so to speak, and needed some downtime.
It was the chair’s responsibility to bring the conclave back to life. Again Jon cleared his throat. “Now, perhaps, it’s time to… to get a few reactions from the group? Comments of any kind?”
That opened the floodgates. Torrents of response poured out across the room like a deluge-swollen waterfall, and Jon was hard-pressed to keep those with hands raised in numerical order for recognition. Many of the comments were variations on the theme of how much the new material sounded like the rest of what Luke wrote in his Gospel and the book of Acts, citing example after example.
“Not to pat ourselves on the back,” Mac MacAdam said, “but the way many of us had theoretically reconstructed what happened to Paul after Acts breaks off turned out to be pretty close to the mark. It’s exciting to see hypothesis turn into fact-well, once again, with that nagging proviso: authenticity.”
“And on that subject,” Jon responded, “I have not the slightest doubt whatever that our codex is authentic. Who, in the name of God-given common sense, could have faked page after page after page of this codex in fourth-century Greek uncials? The answer, of course, is no one, no one at all. Still, because the masses out there would be howling otherwise, we plan to test the codex as much as if we suspected that it was a crude fraud.”
“What sort of tests?” Ed Yamauchi wondered.
“Two kinds: linguistic and material tests. Clearly, the Mark 16 Blue-Ribbon Task Force is our exemplar here, and the same procedures will apply also to Second Acts, which, obviously, will take much longer to implement in view of the larger amount of material.”
Brendan Rutledge raised his pen. “Why, then, don’t we change the name of the Mark 16 group to… say… the Constantine Codex Task Force, in view of its added responsibilities?”
Much affirmative nodding followed. “I like it, Brendan,” Jon said. “What about the ‘Blue Ribbon’ part of it?”
“ Forget the Blue Ribbon!” von Schwendener bellowed. “Who ever attached that stupid phrase to task forces in the first place? It was good only for Pabst beer!”
General laughter erupted, a welcome release.
Dan Wallace raised a sober warning. “You realize, of course, that it’ll be next to impossible to keep a secret of this colossal size under wraps for very long, don’t you, Jon? It would take God’s own miracle to keep the news from spilling out over the months it’ll take to do a full commentary.”
“Right! I guess that’s part of the package: the greater the discovery, the less the chances of keeping it secret. And yet, somehow we must. We’ve got to hold the news or our work will be constantly interrupted by the media. Any bright ideas?”
Shannon volunteered. “Why don’t we suspend the commentary part of it? Commentaries on the Mark material and Second Acts will be written for years to come in any case. If we wait until we also produce any sort of ‘official commentary,’ it could take years and years-like the notorious delay in getting all the Dead Sea Scrolls edited and translated. Over that long a period, confidentiality would be outright impossible. So I propose that on the day we go public with this, we provide only the Greek text, as well as an official English translation that will have just a few commentary footnotes on each page, very much like our present-day study Bibles.”
The conference mulled it over. Finally Sally Humiston said, “That’s good, Shannon, really good! I’m all for it. I really think that’s the way we ought to go.”
Shouts of “Hear, hear!” rattled across the room, and it was so decided.
“Now you see why I married this wonder woman,” Jon said gallantly-and honestly. He bent over and gave her a big hug.
“Not here, Jon,” she whispered in embarrassment.
“On another matter,” he resumed, “I wonder if those whom we haven’t shanghaied for the Constantine Codex Task Force might be willing to serve on another committee with an almost equally crucial function. Its charge will be to ponder two very simple questions, but their recommendations might really shake this planet. Here, I think, are the two questions: One, should the ICO suggest that the New Testament canon be opened to include not only the true ending of Mark’s Gospel, but also the second book of Acts? And two, if so, how can this best be achieved?”
There were many indrawn breaths, yet no one volunteered a word.
“Good,” Jon said. “Any attempt at an answer would be utter folly at this point. After I pass out copies of the Greek text of Second Acts, will those not on the Constantine Codex Task Force be kind enough to serve on the second committee?” He looked around the room and saw more than enough hands raised to form that committee as well.
“Excellent!” he said. “As we close, let me remind all of you how much I hate slogans, cutesy acrostics, and above all, convention themes, all of them ruined by speaker after speaker inflicting deadly boredom on their hearers through mindless repetition of the theme. And yet it seems that I myself have succumbed. Please let the initials of the USA inform our procedures from this point on: Urgency, Secrecy, Action!”
Jon invited Kevin Sullivan to spend the night with them in Weston, and he was delighted to accept. After dinner, they had a predictably lively chat-a fireside version since it was a cool night in late October.
“I should have kept you in better touch, Kev,” Jon said, “but all this broke rather quickly for us, as you now know.”
“Wouldn’t have missed today’s meeting for the world, Jon. I think it was the start of a great chapter in church history-heck, in general history-and I was here to witness it. But when can I tell the Holy Father?”
“Thought you’d never ask! And the answer is obvious: just as soon as you return to Rome. For the moment, please reproduce the handouts only once and for his eyes only. Benedict will understand, I’m sure.”
“Of course he will, and he’ll also be elated beyond measure.”
“He will? I worry that you conservative Catholics might find a potential new New Testament upsetting.”
“Only if any of the new material contradicted the old, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Instead, it corroborates and expands on our present New Testament. Nothing wrong with that… in fact, everything right with that.”
“You think he might even consider… opening the Canon, then?”
“Well, I didn’t say that. Besides, I think it would take nothing less than an ecumenical council to decide that.”
“Yes, I think so too. Hard to imagine what that would even look like, isn’t it? But that’s getting way ahead of ourselves. Right now, somehow, I’ve got to pry the codex out of the hands of the Ecumenical Patriarch in Istanbul so we can test it here in the States. And getting it here could be quite complicated. Any inspired ideas on how to pull that off?”
“Oh, just have him send it surface mail. Ships are quite reliable when it comes to delivery. That should do.”
Jon did a double take, at which Kevin broke out laughing. “I really know how to pull your chain, don’t I, Jon?”
“Ever the Jesuit jester! Okay, let’s get serious. I think I overdid it in claiming I’d have to ‘pry’ the codex out of the patriarch’s hands. I’m sure he’d cooperate, but that doesn’t solve the political problem or the logistics. Even though the codex would merely be on loan to us, the Turkish government might not let it out of the country, especially if they had any inkling how incredibly important it is.”
“I’m afraid that’s true. All the Mediterranean countries are now supersensitive about antiquities being ‘plundered’ from them, as they put it.”
They pondered the problem for some minutes. Suddenly Kevin said, “Wait a minute; I do have an idea. When’s the last time Bartholomew visited the U.S.?”
“I’m not sure he ever has.”
“Better yet! Why not have, say, St. Vladimir’s seminary in New York invite the eastern pope to America? That way he could bring the codex along as part of his official sacred baggage, so to speak. Pope Benedict has visited the U.S. several times; why not the eastern pontiff?”
“Why not indeed! Good thinking, Kev.”
“And if a Turkish customs official dared to check out Bartholomew’s carry-on items, he could say that the codex, although old, was to be used in liturgical worship while he was in America. He wouldn’t have to tell them how old it is. Or the testing that’s planned. Or why.”
Jon frowned. “But it’s not the whole truth, Kev. See, that’s what I dislike about you Jesuits. You never got beyond ‘the end justifies the means’ mentality with your Jesuitical lies…”
Kevin stared in shock at his friend.
“Ha! Gotcha.” Jon burst out with a huge guffaw. “Tit for tat! I really know how to pull your chain, don’t I, Kev? No, it’s a great plan! Wish I’d have thought of it in the first place!”
Over the next weeks, the plan was implemented. First, Jon Express Mailed the patriarch all the materials he had passed out to the scholars in Cambridge. Next, St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary at Crestwood in Greater New York City was more than cooperative. Not only would they be honored by such a visit, but so would the Eastern Orthodox Church bodies in the United States and their members, nearly two million strong. The seminary would also be glad to arrange cross-country appearances for Bartholomew, if he wished, and they sent the Ecumenical Patriarch a warm and enthusiastic invitation.
When he received the glad word that Bartholomew had accepted, Jon arranged a phone conversation with the patriarch over a secure line through the U.S. consulate in Istanbul. Bartholomew understood immediately the other purpose for his visit and even assured Jon that the whole transaction would be absolutely ethical, since the codex was clearly the property of the Eastern Orthodox Patriarchate, not the Republic of Turkey.
Jon was elated and had already set up a testing schedule for the codex both at the Smithsonian in Washington and the radiocarbon labs at the University of Arizona in Tucson. Both institutions had reported that the five brownish leaves Shannon had discovered were datable to the third century and fully authentic.
The patriarch’s visit was scheduled to begin just after Epiphany. Jon and Shannon could barely wait to see the codex again. The document had become part of their very lives. Never had Advent seemed more anticipatory-or longer. For once, their central focus at the close of the year was not Christmas but Epiphany.
By some divine intervention, apparently, the great scholarly secret seemed to be holding, and the two codex task forces were making dedicated progress. Perhaps, with testing complete, the public announcement could come later that spring.
On January 8, Jon and Shannon were in New York to be part of the welcoming party at JFK, along with a delegation from St. Vladimir’s. In the process of receiving the Ecumenical Patriarch, of course, Jon was virtually lusting after his literary special delivery. The arriving coterie of Eastern Orthodox clergy stood in marked contrast to the other travelers as they emerged through customs-uniformly black gowns, suits, and hats against a cavalcade of color among the other passengers. Jon and Shannon spied Bartholomew before he saw them, that tall figure of patriarchal dignity who seemed almost haloed from the rest. They hurried to greet him.
“A most cordial welcome, Your All Holiness!” Jon said. “How very delightful to see you again!”
“Ah, my most worthy professor and his lovely wife! It is most kind of you to receive us! May God bless our time together!”
Now, the usual rituals had to take place. After introductions by the welcoming delegation from St. Vladimir’s and the metropolitans of the various Orthodox jurisdictions, there was the usual posing for photographs by the media, prying microphones, network reporters pleading for sound bites, and a nice but mercifully brief welcome from the mayor of New York. He presented the Ecumenical Patriarch the ceremonial key to the city that would, Jon knew, open nothing.
Per advance agreement, Bartholomew and his delegation stopped at the international VIP sky lounge at JFK for some brief R amp; R before the ride into Manhattan. While members of the patriarch’s party took their afternoon coffee-or ouzo-Bartholomew and Gregorios met with Jon and Shannon in a small private conference room. With an air of relief, the patriarch handed Jon a large, padded, black leather attache case containing the codex and offered a brief prayer for its safety during the testing process.
With gratitude and an equal sense of relief, Jon accepted the case and tried the latches, just to make sure everything functioned properly. When the bronze latches popped open, he lifted the lid and there it was, lying in a red velvet-covered cushion of foam rubber on all sides: the document that had become the center of their lives, the document that would change history. The patriarch had taken good care of it indeed, even having that special case fashioned to the contours of the Constantine Codex.
Jon pushed one of the latches shut and was ready to do the same for the other when Shannon said, “Please, let’s sneak another peek at it before you close it, Jon.”
“We just saw it.”
“I mean, I only want a quick glimpse of a page of text again. I’ve actually… missed it, strange as that may seem.”
“I don’t think it strange at all,” Jon said. “I feel the same way.”
Bartholomew and Gregorios looked on and smiled, sharing an almost-sacred sympathy for the text.
The clasps popped open again, and Jon carefully lifted the codex out of the cavity prepared for it.
“Strange,” Jon said. “I don’t recall that the cover was this well preserved.” He opened the codex… and gasped. He turned several pages frantically and gasped even more loudly. There was no vellum, no uncials written in four neat columns, nothing -other than several hundred pages of cheap, bare white foolscap.
Jon stood, pulse coursing wildly, and asked the patriarch to step over to his side of the table. Bartholomew did so, a quizzical look in his eyes.
“O The Mou!” the Ecumenical Patriarch cried. “This cannot be! Gregorios, come! Look!”
When he did so, his face contorted into that of a gargoyle. He turned several pages, teetered, and then collapsed into a chair. “This… this is not possible!”
The scene had become surreal. Yes, this is not a bad dream, Jon had to remind himself. Yes, we are in New York. Yes, the people are real. Yet they were all staring at an impossibility.
Jon came alive with a fusillade of queries. “Did you check this through with your luggage or as a carry-on, Your All Holiness?”
“As a carry-on, certainly.”
“And was it in your possession the whole time?”
“Yes, yes, it was.”
“Ever since you left the patriarchate?”
“Yes.”
“Did you open the case and the codex just before leaving the patriarchate?”
“Oh yes, it was the last thing I did.”
“You opened it up and saw the vellum pages, the uncials…?”
“Yes. I even read the opening words of Matthew’s Gospel: ‘The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham.’ Then I closed it and blessed it.”
“How did you get to the airport?”
“We drove in a BMW owned by the patriarchate. When I entered our car, Brother Gregorios put the case into the trunk, along with our other luggage.”
“When you arrived at the airport, did this case stay with you?”
“I carried it myself for the patriarch,” Gregorios said.
“Did you open the case at the airport?”
“Yes…”
“And the codex was inside?”
“Yes.”
“Did you open the codex?”
He paused and frowned. “No, I… I did not.”
“Was there, perhaps, some reason why you did not?” Jon felt he had to tread gingerly here to avoid giving the impression that he was some sort of grilling prosecutor.
“We were at the customs line, and everyone seemed to be rushed. Besides, the codex was there.”
“What happened when you went through customs?”
“They waved us through,” the monk replied.
“But the case had to go through security just before the gates, right?”
“Yes.”
“And it went through?”
“Yes.”
“And this was the only time it was not in your hands? Or those of the Ecumenical Patriarch?”
“Yes, the only time.”
“And you had it with you at all times in the departure lounge?”
“Yes. I hardly ever took my eyes off it.”
“But you didn’t open the codex again?”
Gregorios hesitated-was it embarrassment?-and said, “No.”
“And on the flight to New York-where did you stow it?”
“In the overhead storage bin, where there was plenty of room.”
“And when you went through customs here in New York?”
“They just told us to go through. Nothing was searched.”
Jon worked on the options, one by one. At last he said, “Now, this is important. When is the last time you saw the actual pages of vellum and the uncials written on them?”
Gregorios looked at Bartholomew and both had to agree. “When we left the patriarchate.”
“And that was the last time you opened the codex? Not after you went through security?”
“No, that was the last time. Now I see that this… this was a terrible failure on our part…”
While Jon was tempted to agree, he guarded his tongue. “Well, with the case intact-this is the original case, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes…”
“With the original case in your hands, you’d really have no reason to open it. Please don’t be too hard on yourselves.”
It seemed only a modest comfort for the patriarch and his archivist. Both were terribly distraught. Shannon looked quite pale. Jon fought off the feelings of despair welling up inside him with a boiling anger that the prize should have been snatched from them just before the moment of victory. He paced around the conference room, one hand wringing the other for an explanation.
Clearly, the codex had been stolen sometime between Bartholomew’s leaving the patriarchate and his arrival in America-a bewilderingly broad span of time and place. One obvious, unguarded period of time would have been while the case was in the overhead bin on the transatlantic flight. They had flown business class, so the perpetrator most likely also had a business-class ticket, although he might have penetrated the business-class cabin if the flight attendants were chatting among themselves, as was often the case.
Jon explained his thinking to the others. Then he asked, “During the flight, did either of you notice anyone opening or trying to open your particular overhead bin?”
The two Greeks looked at each other; both shook their heads.
“Then, if it did happen on the flight, it would have to have taken place while you were both sleeping.”
“But even if they were, Jon,” Shannon interposed, “what about the others in their delegation? Wouldn’t they have noticed someone disturbing their overhead bins? Were the others near you on the flight, Brother Gregorios?”
“Yes, Madame Weber. We were all on the left side of the cabin.”
“And you had daylight throughout your flight?”
“Yes, we ‘chased the sun,’ as we say it in Greek, all the way across the Atlantic.”
“Good point, Shannon,” Jon said. “So the only other times the case was out of your hands had to be when you left the patriarchate and it was put into the trunk of your limo and when it went through security at the departure in Istanbul. Please recall again everything that happened there-I mean, every last detail.”
The patriarch took a deep breath. “We arrive at the airport. We check in at the counter. All the time I am watching the black case, and so is Brother Gregorios. We take our boarding passes and carry-ons to the security line. We start to go through the line. But then they direct us to a special security line-probably to make it easier for us. We put our things in those gray plastic boxes and push them along the moving track. Here I watch the black case very carefully. The belt starts to move. It stops; it reverses. It starts again, then stops again and reverses several times. It often happens this way at airports.”
“It happens all the time,” Shannon commented.
“Yes. Then, as our case again goes through the machine, the scanner person looks at his screen and calls over a supervisor. They study the screen for a while. I worry that they may want to open the black case and give us problems with the codex. But this does not happen. Finally the belt moves on; we collect our things and walk to the gate.”
Jon desperately wanted to get to the bottom of this, but he realized that it was time for the two to rejoin the rest of their delegation and get on with their American tour. “Clearly, this is a terrible setback for New Testament scholarship,” he said. “I would ask your permission to let me have the Federal Bureau of Investigation check this fake document for fingerprints-which is always the first step. Then, with the cooperation of the Central Intelligence Agency, they’ll want to analyze that worthless paper and the board cover for any clues as to their origin. It’s just possible that the perpetrator was too clever by half in providing a substitute like this.”
“Shouldn’t we call the police in on this?” the patriarch wondered.
“Ordinarily I’d say, ‘Yes, certainly,’ Your All Holiness, but then our entire effort would no longer be confidential. It may, of course, come to that eventually.”
“Well, thank God we have photographic copies of the entire text, Professor Weber,” Bartholomew said. “You and your wife were wise to preserve those precious words.”
The following days were a hurricane of intelligence sleuthing for Jon. While the Eastern Orthodox faithful were giving the Ecumenical Patriarch an enthusiastic welcome, Jon convinced the CIA’s Morton Dillingham to put the resources of the federal government, including the FBI, behind the case of the missing codex. In view of their past relationship, this had not been an easy task, but when Jon revealed the secret of the document’s extraordinary importance to Christianity-and the world-Dillingham gave in. He was also impressed with Jon’s savvy in trying to keep the find confidential as long as possible. Not a religious man himself, Dillingham nevertheless worshiped at the shrine of secrecy.
Over the next days, the FBI and CIA examined the fake codex in every way possible. They requisitioned the passenger manifest of everyone on the patriarch’s flight, including the flight crew, and did background checks on every name on the list. CIA agents in Istanbul asked the Turkish equivalent of Dillingham to do the same with all security personnel on duty that morning at Ataturk International Airport.
To Jon’s happy surprise, they pledged full cooperation. At first he wondered why Muslim authorities there would be willing to assist Christians in finding a stolen church document. He assumed it was because Turkey was a secular-not religious-state, a fact that the Turkish army had to remind the government of from time to time. So there was no Muslim fanaticism impeding their investigation. To be sure, the colossal significance of the codex was not mentioned to the Turks.
One overriding item, however, could not be overlooked. The possibility-indeed, the probability-had to be weighed that this was an inside job. How else could the perpetrator know the approximate size of the codex in order to plant the substitute? Or even know that the patriarch and his party would have the codex with them en route to the