Paul Maier - The Constantine Codex

“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?”