Chapter 5

5
LOS ANGELES

"How was Rio?" Nancy asked nonchalantly as she continued on her computer terminal. "It's good to have you back. I assume you know what I want you to do first." She pointed without looking at his mail slot, now stuffed to explosive pressure.

It was hard to deal with this side of life when monumental affairs were at hand in the same room. He took the easy way out, gathering the whole bulk of it into his free hand and disappearing into his office.

Penetrating the Vatican Reliquary was tricky but not impossible. A nominal Catholic, he had received a letter from the Pope when he won the Nobel Prize. That should grease a wheel or two. He also knew exactly which Prince of the Church could be most easily coerced into cooperating. As a Vatican relic, the lock of Mary's hair was held in complete secrecy. Along with perhaps a dozen other things preserved by the Church through the centuries, such a relic could serve no essential purpose to the masses beyond the creation of another shrine. The Catholic Church was quite certain what it wanted Catholics to worship. It had learned in the Middle Ages that certain religions work best when they stay on track.

After speaking to six secretaries and assistants, Cardinal Varretti finally came to the phone. "You know I would try to do anything that you ask, Horst, but that is another department. I can make discrete inquiries, but the final decision to release information such as that would have to come through channels. It would have to be reviewed. The whole process would have to be detailed and submitted for final approval. And we are talking about approval from the very highest levels of the Vatican, the very highest levels. What you really need to do is to submit a petition to the Holy See, very quietly, of course, then possibly...," he paused for a moment,  "... but even then such a request would be viewed as quite provocative, quite provocative. There would be all kinds of questions, inquiries into the use of the information, the character of those who sought it, not to say that your own character would be found wanting, but even the character of your colleagues would come under scrutiny. Under scrutiny at the highest levels, the highest levels."

Horst Tillotson was smiling ear to ear. The old snake was laying his own Papal alibi in front of someone. Varretti not only had staying power in the power structure, he had influence. Influence hell. Varretti had a stable of well groomed favors owed to him and another, even larger stable, filled with black horses, each one able to ruin a career if it were to be trotted out into the light of day. He had dirt on half of the College of Cardinals, and he was regarded with the utmost respect, in his words, the utmost respect. Tillotson had gotten drunk with him on more than one occasion.

"Well, thank you very much for the information, Cardinal Varretti. I'm sorry that you won't be able to help me. Perhaps it is better if I approach the request on a more formal basis. It is very nice to talk to you again. No matter how this may turn out you know you are always welcome here in Los Angeles." Dr. Tillotson replaced the receiver and turned to gaze out his office window.

The archaeologist had only one thought, "Bingo!"

The digital PCR document downloaded on e-mail the next afternoon. Tillotson had what he needed. He had the DNA trace of the Mother of Jesus. "Thank you, Cardinal Varretti!"

Tillotson dumped the file to floppy and copied it. Throwing one of the diskettes into his desk drawer, he mused "I can't ask that favor again..." Lifting the other, he compared it to the diskette holding the PCR from Robele's shroud. He was out of his depth. It was time to call Audi Fahrger.

Fahrger was an anomaly at the university. Assistant Dean of genetic medicine, he held a research chair and actually taught graduate and undergraduate classes. In person. His office was five hundred yards across campus in the medical school administration building.

"Audi, its Horst Tillotson. I've got mother and son on two PCR files on disk. Can you verify maternity, maybe speculate on paternity?"

"I know you just came back from Rio. I suppose this will be the lost prince and his alleged mother, The Amazon Crocodile Priestess." Audi Fahrger had done work for the archaeologist before.

"Not exactly, but who cares about faces if I make it worth your while with an inappropriately expensive bribe?" Horst shot back. "Audi, this one is really important to me."

"The bribe wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't mentioned it. Now I feel like I'd be cheating myself if I didn't demand better than what you offer. I suppose you had in mind that I would drop everything and take care of you right away." Fahrger's good natured bantering disguised one of the sharpest minds in the business.

"I'll be over in half an hour. You should be done loafing by then." Tillotson fumbled around the back one drawer of his file cabinet, finally withdrawing a reasonably good bottle of single malt scotch whiskey. It was opened, but remained full enough to pay the favor.

Fahger's office was a disaster. He had gathered every organ model supplied as pharmaceutical advertising in preparation for sending them to local high schools. The pile of pancreases, livers, kidneys and bowels was larger than his desk. There was no telling how long they had been there

"Come in! Come in, Horst." The little man walked around the pile of plastic organs to offer his hand. "I don't get many mud-on-your-boots barbarians in here bearing gifts. By the way, where is it."

Tillotson dutifully produced the diskettes. Fahrger laughed. "I am Androcles and these little data files are stuck in the foot of the lion of archaeology? No, my good man, not work, bribe. Where is my bribe?" He aped Peter Lorre with fair success.

"Of course," laughed Tillotson, producing the bottle, "I forget myself that I come scraping for favors. Let me pour you a drink."

"In fact, good doctor, you'll pour one for both of us." Fahrger produced two fairly clean Coke glasses from his desk. "As your physician, I can tell that you need to relax, have a drink and tell me all about this. You're beside yourself."

"If you are my physician, and I have always held that to be true, I may tell you just a little since I trust you to hold our conversation in confidence." Tillotson would have handed Fahrger his soul for safekeeping.

"In confidence it shall be, by my oath, Horst. What are you going to tell me?" Fahrger finished his whiskey and placed the disks in his lab coat pocket.

"I'll tell you what I am going to tell you after you analyze the PCR's. You'll want me to tell you more, but I swear that I just can't, not until I know more about what lies ahead."

"Well, there is no good reason to build suspense beyond what there is already. Even you, my shovel wielding supplicant, will be impressed by the ease and speed of this little electronic beauty." Fahrger powered up a desk sized unit in his private laboratory adjacent to his office. Loading the files from the two disks took only a moment. The machine seemed to ponder for a few seconds, and then produced a three page report. Tillotson could see the characteristic smudges on the first page. The others were covered with figures.

Serious now, Audi turned to Tillotson. "There is a very strong case for maternity. More than good enough to hold up in a court of law. We know everything about the father, that being that he was a genetically healthy homo sapien. So now tell me what you're going to tell me. Who are these people?"

Tillotson blurted it out. "The mother's PCR is from the Vatican. It is DNA taken from a reliquary sample of the hair of the Mother of Jesus Christ. Audi, I'm holding you to your word."

"Horst, not to worry. I don't want any part of this. I think, as your physician, I should tell you to reconsider this. You are playing with forces beyond comprehension. Put this back where you found it. Forget about it! You're not the one worried about keeping a secret, I am. Don't you ever let my name pass your lips!"

The men parted friends, but this was the last time Audi Fahrger ever saw Horst Tillotson.