CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (35 page)

"You are very special," John said. "I believe you are more than special. Chosen. Gabriel Archer thought so, too. He said you were the
only one. The old priestess told you the same thing. What if they were
messengers? Delivering a message from God? And they did it by
speaking to you in a language only you could understand-the language of heaven, the tongue of angels. You thought they told you to
stop the sun, the dawn. But you misunderstood them. Cotten, it has
nothing to do with stopping the sun from coming up. In fact, that
would prove easy compared to what lies ahead."

She held her breath as she watched him open the Bible again to
the page he had marked.

"It's not something you need to stop, it's someone." He scrolled his
finger down to Isaiah 14:12, and held it up for her to read.

Cotten scanned the single sentence. She looked back at John-her
mouth agape, her breath catching in her throat, her palms dampening.

The room iced.

Looking back at the text, Cotten read it again, this time aloud,
"How have you fallen from the heavens, 0 Lucifer, Son of the Dawn."

For false christs and false prophets will arise and show great signs and
wonders, so as to deceive, if possible, even the elect. (Matthew 24:24)

"LUCIFER? LIKE IN THE devil, Lucifer?" Cotten said. "I don't understand. What I'm thinking can't be right. Can't be...'

John sat patiently while she tried to keep up with the hundreds of
thoughts rolling through her mind like marbles spinning over tile.

"Son;" Cotten said. "So it's not the sun in the sky, but the Son of
the Dawn ... Lucifer ... Satan? I'm supposed to stop Satan." Her head
shot up. "Jesus Christ, are you insane?"

Visions of Archer and the Santeria priestess swept past her like a
flock of blackbirds. The box. The Cup. The Crusader Cross. John sipping coffee talking about the Knights Templar. Thornton. His list.
Vanessa waving goodbye. Her shoe. The Guardians of the Grail.

The Son of the Dawn!

Cotten's hands flew to her temples as she shook her head. "No,
this is crazy. It makes no sense. I feel like I'm watching a horror movie
like The Exorcist or something."

"Cotten," John said, taking her wrists and lowering her hands. "It
does make sense. Everything makes sense now. Don't you see? Gabriel
Archer was there in the tomb, not to keep the Cup, but to give it to you. He was there to pass the task on to you, a task given to you by
God."

"Bullshit," she said, pulling away and getting to her feet. "He was
just an old man, not a messenger of God. And now he's dead! I heard
him take his last breath."

"Yes, but not before he fulfilled his task-to deliver the message
that you are truly the only one."

"That's a bunch of Catholic crap. I don't believe there is a God."
She whipped around, turning her back. "And if there were, He'd have
to be nuts to pick me. I don't even go to church. I'm nobody." She
plowed her fingers through her hair. "Nobody."

John stood and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Let's back up,"
he said, "step-by-step."

She turned to him and forced herself to listen. Cotten felt as if her
bones were dissolving, and the structure that kept her upright was
collapsing.

"Lucifer was the most beautiful angel in heaven-so beautiful
that his name meant Son of the Dawn. But he was cast out of heaven
for leading a rebellion against God because he thought he was God's
equal. After he was defeated, his name on earth became Satan. Down
through the ages, he has waited to get back at God for casting him
out. I believe that time is now. Are you with me so far?"

"I think," she whispered.

"Good," John said. "The Cup that held Christ's blood was preserved, and inside that vessel beneath the layer of beeswax is Jesus'
DNA."

Cotten took a step back, and he slowed down, holding his hands
up like a warning for her to listen and hear him out. "I know this part
is going to be a leap. It was for me. But this is the crux of the whole
thing, the link that puts it all together. Someone, guided by Lucifer, stole the Grail and wants to use the DNA to recreate the body of
Christ. That person, the one under Satan's influence, is called the
False Prophet. I believe that person is the current Grand Master of
the Templars. He prepares the way for the Antichrist. He is the one
organizing everything-the leader of the seven heads. It will be
Lucifer's ultimate revenge on God, to use God's own flesh and blood
to do the bidding of the devil. That's the abomination."

John picked up the Bible. "I reread the Book of Revelation while
you slept. All the clues, the answers to everything, are here." Locating
the passage, he said, "Revelation 13:14: And deceiveth them that dwell
on the earth by the means of those miracles which he had power to do in
the sight of the beast; saying to them that dwell on the earth, that they
should make an image to the beast, which had the wound by a sword,
and did live. Not so many years ago, no one would have toyed with
the thought of creating a real image to the beast. But with today's
technology, and given the fact that we have Christ's DNA, it will be
easy for the False Prophet to create the Antichrist through the miracle
of cloning Christ's body, a body that rose from the dead after being
crucified and wounded in the side by a spear.

"And here," he said. "Revelation 13:15: And he had power to give
life unto the image of the beast. By cloning the body of Christ, the False
Prophet is able to give life, to create life. Other than natural childbirth, how else but by cloning could any human have the power to
give life?" John took a deep breath. "And Cotten, you are the one who
has been appointed by God to stop it."

"Why me? Why not some Mother Teresa, or Billy Graham, or the
pope?"

"I can't pretend to know why God does some things, but for
whatever reason, He chose you. You were given the knowledge of the
language of heaven-the tongue of the angels. All things are led by the Divine hand. Think about this, Cotten. You were led to me, but if
it had been a different woman, maybe I would have taken no interest,
and the box would not have been delivered to the Vatican. A different
woman wouldn't have found me on old news footage, wouldn't have
looked for me. A different woman wouldn't be a reporter. There
would have been no news story to follow, no Thornton and Vanessa
to drive that other woman to uncover the mystery. The Cup could
have just disappeared, landed in evil hands, and Satan's plan would
have unfolded without obstacles.

"God and Satan are at war; they battle every moment of every
hour. We can't possibly understand it all. We are only His instruments. God moved you through your life in ways that brought you to
that crypt in Iraq on that given day, and at that hour. When Gabriel
Archer handed you the box, he passed on the task of defeating Satan
for the second-"

"Stop! I don't want to hear anymore. Stop it!" Cotten collapsed
into John's arms, sobbing. "No," she whimpered. "I can't do this. I
can't. There's been a mistake."

John held her close. "God wouldn't have chosen you if He didn't
believe in you. And if it were a mistake, why would they be doing
everything possible to stop you?"

She breathed into his chest. "But why haven't they stopped me?
Why Vanessa and Thornton? Why not me?"

John lifted her face in his palms. "Because He has something for
you to do. You are His-chosen, Cotten."

"I don't know what to do."

"So far it looks like you've done everything He's asked." John
cleared the hair from her eyes. "You told me once that your father
said you were meant for greatness. I think he was right. I believe
you're special. Now you have to start believing it, too."

Cotten's voice was weak. "I'm just Cotten Stone, a simple Kentucky farm girl, daughter of Furmiel and Martha Stone-simple farm
folks. I'm definitely no one special. You'd be a better choice. That
would make sense. Why weren't you given the job of stopping this
thing-whatever it is?"

"Maybe He knows I can't. He didn't choose me, but He let me
decide to help you. Maybe He knows neither of us can do it alone."

"You're the one with all the faith. Shit, you talk to Him on a regular basis." She touched his crucifix with the tip of her finger. "I haven't
prayed since I was a kid."

"Praying isn't something you whisper on your knees in church.
Praying is simply communicating with God. I'd say He's found a way
to open up a pretty good line of communication, wouldn't you?"
John's words came in a low voice. "He can see all the flaws in my faith.
There's never been anything I wanted more than to serve God, but
I've floundered, never wholly giving up my life to Him. No matter
how profoundly I've thought I wanted to live my life for God, I
haven't managed to find a way, so I've wandered from one endeavor
to another. I've even buried doubts when they've arisen. But we can't
hide from God."

"Stop it. John, I've seen your strength, your solid faith. But me,
I've never believed in anything, not even myself. I've always wanted
the things I couldn't have. Look at you, look at all the ways you've
proven your devotion to doing God's work. I've done nothing!"

She felt her stomach turn sour. Had she destroyed his faith? It
wouldn't be fair; he was a good man. If the two of them had never
met, if she'd never dragged him into her screwed-up life ... Everything she touched ...

"I have to trust in Him, trust that He has brought me to this
moment, brought me to you." John's eyes searched hers as if he hoped he could read her thoughts. "Cotten, there's one more thing . . ." He
drew away.

Cool air replaced the warmth of his closeness.

"John? What is it? Don't keep anything from me, now. There is
nothing else you can tell me that could be worse than what you've
already said."

It was the middle of the night, but light sleep plagued Charles Sinclair. He had dozed for twenty or thirty minutes, then eyes flashed
open, his mind clear and alert. This was not a time for the passive
state. His brain and body were fed a continuous charge of energy
knowing what was taking place only a few steps from where he slept.

Sinclair slipped from the bed, rearranging the covers, putting a
down pillow against his wife's back so she wouldn't notice his
absence. There was no need to disturb her. He wandered down from
the family quarters to the lab to satisfy himself that all was well-that
the process was safe and proceeding on schedule.

Sinclair pressed his finger in the DNA analyzer before entering
the code. In a moment he heard the familiar heavy metallic thump as
the magnetic locks released, and the door to the lab unlocked. He
pushed on the stainless steel door and entered.

The molecular biology lab was dark-only a few security lights
and the glow from a handful of computer monitors lit the room. Sinclair smiled as his gaze fell on his prized possession. Walking past a
centrifuge and a few incubators, he approached a long counter-on
top sat an acrylic case containing the Cup-beside it the silver titanium travel case.

In the state-of-the-art surroundings of gleaming chrome, stainless, brass, and glass, the Grail looked out of place-an anachronism.
The ancient beeswax, meticulously removed from the Cup, lay in a
separate sealed container. In its place, a thin, specially created polymer, clear as cellophane, adhered to and conserved both the inside
and outside of the Cup.

Sinclair moved to a second polycarbonate container a few feet
away. But this one was extraordinary, developed and produced for
this purpose alone. The container was mounted to a microscope so
its precious contents would not be disturbed during observationstubes and hoses attached to its sides provided a controlled environment of air, humidity, and temperature. Inside, within a small glass
petri dish rested the miracle. But unlike all the previous clonings by
other scientists, there would be no human surrogate mother. Instead
-and perhaps this was his most exquisite invention, he thoughtthe virgin to carry this Christ-child would be a synthetic womb. He'd
experimented for years with women who, for a price, offered to be
surrogate mothers. And then later he'd experimented with donated
uterine organs, but the failure rate with both was unacceptable.
Embryos often divided properly at first, then stopped. Those he managed to encourage to divide appropriately, most often failed to
implant. And those that did, terminated in miscarriage.