Gregg Loomis - The Coptic Secret

Lang followed the priest and the bottle into a small study. Books lined the three windowless walls. "I'll have to admit, this is one of the last places anyone would look for me."

Francis was tinkling ice cubes from a silver bucket into glasses. "No argument there." He handed one of the tumblers to Lang. "And you are sure someone is after you? This isn't a manifestation of paranoia produced by a troubled mind?"

Lang sank into a leather club chair. "Want to go down to my country place and count the bullet holes? And you should see the burned hole in the sky that was my condo."

Francis sat and took a sip, shaking his head. "In the vulgate, your ass is always in one crack or another. I gather that's why Gurt left?"

Lang nodded. "Pretty much. Neither of us want to take chances with Manfred."

Francis thought this over a moment. In the years of his close friendship with Lang, he had learned Lang would tell him all he wanted known in his own time. "From what you said before supper, it has something to do with scripture or one of the apostles."

"I think so. Specifically, James. Was he the brother of Jesus?"

The priest stared into his drink for a moment before rising to pull a well-worn Bible from the shelves. "That's been the subject of debate. Matthew 13:53-56 says"-he opened the book-"after the young Jesus astonished the various priests at the synagogue, it was asked, Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works? Is this not the carpenter's son? Is not his mother called Mary? And are not his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not all his sisters with us?' Mark has almost the identical language at 6:6." He thumbed the pages. "Plus, Luke 2:7 speaks of Jesus as Mary's firstborn son, an implication she had others later. In Galatians 1:19, Paul tells us, when he traveled to Jerusalem, he 'saw none of the apostles except James, the Lord's brother.'"

Lang took a drink. "I understand that poses a problem to you bead slingers, both from the point of view of having the siblings of the Son of God unaccounted for and the doctrine of the continuing virginity of Mary. I also understand the church contends all those siblings were from a previous marriage of Joseph."

Francis sighed as he returned the Bible to the shelf and sat. "Vexata quaestio, a vexing question. It is certainly possible they were half brothers and sisters. St. Jerome taught in the fourth century that they were only cousins."

"Veritatem dies aperit." Lang grinned as he lifted his glass.

Francis rattled ice cubes, a melodic chime against the crystal. "Time may reveal the truth but two millennia haven't shed a lot of light on this one. It is also possible that the writers of those gospels meant brothers and sisters in the sense we are all children of God."

Lang left his seat for a refill. "The Gospels were written in Greek originally, were they not?"

"So I understand."

"I don't know the language, but I seem to recall it has a very specific word for 'brother,' adelphos. Anepsios for cousin. If the writer had meant cousin or half brother, he had the words to use."

Francis's faith and Lang's lack of it had been the cause of endless spirited but friendly arguments. In fact, religious debate was second only to Latin aphorisms as an entertainment medium. Both men respected the other's intellect; both practiced a profession involving logical advocacy and argument. Nonetheless, Lang was careful never to demean his friend's beliefs or go past that ill-defined point where Francis might perceive insult or threat. Conversely, the priest never tried to convert Lang to anything that could be described as organized religion and managed to keep his mouth shut about aspects of his friend's life of which neither the priest nor the church approved. The boundaries made the friendship both interesting and pleasurable.

Francis waited until Lang had finished pouring before refilling his own glass. "I'm not sure I understand what all this has to do with your present problem. It's an old dispute, one that I'm sure sent any number of heretics to the stake. But we don't do that anymore. I'd be surprised if anyone, even the most devout, were trying to kill you over the James-brother-of-Jesus thing."

Lang was back in his chair, legs crossed. "Someone sure didn't mind killing my friend Eon."

Francis nodded his agreement, sending the light dancing on the beads of the rosary he wore around his neck. "True, but that involved rare documents, something of actual cash value. Have you ever considered the fact that he and that man in Prague…"

"Klaus."

"… Klaus. That they both were killed because of what was in those old papers?"

"That was why I wanted a copy. I figured if someone was willing to kill anyone who had access to them, there must be something the killers don't want known. If I can find out what that is, I may be able to find out who they are."

It had worked before. The secret of the enigmatic painting by Poussin, a seventeenth-century French artist, had led him to the shadowy Pegasus organization.

"If you live long enough."

"Spare me your optimism."

Francis was looking into his glass, debating a third scotch. "And you have this copy of the book?"

"In my safe-deposit box until I can find someone to translate. I made yet another copy."

Francis had decided another wee libation might do no harm. "I'm sure there's someone at Emory…"

"There is, but he's on sabbatical until the end of the summer. I don't intend to let it out of my sight when it's not in the lockbox."

"You could make another copy, send it to someone."

"And risk their life? Remember, two people who had that book are dead. That's why I'm keeping it close at hand."

Francis gestured toward the bottle; Lang shook his head. "So, you don't plan to find out who these people are for some time?"

Lang had thought of that but couldn't come up with an alternative. "If you have any suggestions, don't let your priestly humility keep you from speaking up."

"Humility's the Dominicans' shtick. Come with me to Rome. Like I told you, I'm leaving next week. Sunday, actually."

Lang started to protest but the priest raised a silencing hand. "It works." He held up a finger. "First, you can bet your heathen soul there'll be someone at the Vatican who can read that book of yours, Coptic Greek." He held up a second digit. "Second, you can share my room in the Vatican. You don't get much more secure than that even if your pals figure out where you've gone."

Lang wasn't wild about the idea but he didn't have a better one.

Half an hour later, he was staring at the ceiling of the rectory's small guest room. He would be glad to get out of Atlanta. Being here without the warmth of Gurt's body next to him made his hometown an alien and lonely place. Worse was knowing that Manfred would not be exploding through the door at the first hint of morning, ready for the day's adventures. Even Grumps, stretched out beside the bed, was staring morosely into space. Lang was sure he was thinking of his missing playmate.

Gurt and Manfred had just entered his life, what, a couple of weeks ago? Far too short a time to miss them as much as he did, he told himself unconvincingly. He intentionally replaced growing self-pity with anger. Who were these people that made it necessary to be apart from his son and lover? What was it in that ancient text that made it necessary to kill any who possessed it?

Well, Francis was right about one thing: if any place on the face of the planet would be sure to have scholars of ancient Greek-Egyptian, the Vatican would be it. Lang hoped he would learn the secret of the Book of James before his pursuers discovered where he had gone.

He hoped.

Delta Flight 1023

Sunday Night

Lang's dislike of flying was enhanced by the stingy dimensions of a tourist-class seat. They hadn't expanded any since his agency days when travel was always by the most economical means possible. Apparently the Catholic Church subscribed to the same idea. The only difference was that now the airlines no longer served complimentary drinks to economy international passengers, but charged five bucks for those beverages that could only be sold to adults. He had offered to pay for an upgrade for Francis rather than suffer the discomforts of tourist-class travel, but the priest had pointed out that it would be bad politics for any of his fellow clergy to see him luxuriating in accommodations designed for adult-size passengers. The same reason excluded use of the foundation's Gulfstream.