James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

The Triumphal Arch of Titus rose imposingly against the backdrop of the Colosseum, barely scarred by the twenty centuries that had passed since it was constructed to commemorate the successful campaign against Jerusalem by Titus. Decker scanned the carved images in the arch and quickly found what he was looking for. "Here it is," he said. Christopher looked at the carving over Decker's shoulder. The scene depicted the spoils of war being taken from the conquered city of Jerusalem.

"Okay. Now will you tell me what this is all about?" "Sure," answered Decker. "I don't know if I ever mentioned Joshua Rosen to you." Christopher's face gave no indication that he recognized the name. "Well, he was a man, a scientist actually, whom I knew years ago. We met on the Turin expedition." Christopher's ears perked up. "Later he moved to Israel and I did a story on him. Anyway, when Tom Donafin and I were in Israel, just before we were taken hostage, Joshua Rosen gave us a tour of some of the sites in Jerusalem, one of which was the Wailing Wall – that's what they used to call the western wall of the old Jewish temple before the Palestinians blew it up and the Jews built the new Temple." Christopher nodded, indicating his familiarity with the recent history of the Jewish Temple. "Well, while we were there, Joshua told us about the Ark of the Covenant and gave his theory on what had happened to it. I'll have to tell you all about it some time. But anyway, the point of the story is that he told us about the Arch of Titus and this carving. Titus was the commander of the Roman forces that pillaged and destroyed Jerusalem in 70 A.D."

"Yes, I know. I prophesied that before the crucifixion," interjected Christopher.

"You never told me you remembered that!"

"Don't get too excited," Christopher answered. "I don't remember it. I read about it in the Bible."

"Oh," said Decker. "Well, anyway, as you can see, the carving is intricately detailed. Despite its age, you can clearly make out the items being taken from Jerusalem." Christopher looked more closely.

"Yeah, I see that. It's really well preserved."

Christopher didn't seem to be getting the point. "Don't you see?" Decker asked. "The Ark of the Covenant is not among the treasures shown in the carving."

"I'm sorry, Decker. I don't get it. So what?"

Decker suddenly realized that there was a lot he had not explained. "I'm sorry. I guess I need to give you some more details, but the reason for the interest has to do with the Shroud of Turin. Joshua Rosen had a fascinating theory involving the Ark of the Covenant that would explain why the original carbon 14 dating of the Shroud showed it to be only about a thousand years old." Decker proceeded to tell Christopher the whole story of the Ark as it had been told to him and Tom Donafin by Joshua Rosen.

"So you think the Shroud was in the Ark all those years?" Christopher asked after listening to Decker's story.

"I don't know, but it would answer some questions about the Shroud. And about you," Decker added.

As they talked and looked at the carvings on the Arch, they were unaware that two young boys had approached them from behind. "Scusi, Signor Goodman, potremmo avere la sua firma?" the older of the two boys asked.

Decker, who spoke no Italian, had no idea what the boys wanted, and was quite surprised when Christopher took a pen out of his jacket pocket and began to sign his name on some scraps of paper the boys handed him. "Autographs?" he asked, making no attempt to hide his surprise.

Christopher nodded in answer to Decker's question. He spoke for a moment with the boys in perfect Italian, smiling broadly and shaking their hands as if they were important dignitaries, before dismissing them. The boys walked a few steps, each showing the other the autograph he had received. Then waving their scraps of paper in the air like trophies, they broke into a run toward a lady whom Decker took to be their mother, shouting, "Il Principe di Roma."

For a moment Decker just looked at Christopher, who seemed a little embarrassed by the whole thing. "So that's what all the attention was about at the airport. You're a local celebrity."

Christopher shrugged.

"Don't be embarrassed. I think that's great. You must be doing quite a job here."

"It's not really anything I've done: I've just gotten a lot of credit for some of the United Nations programs we've implemented. Popular programs make for a popular administration."

The next morning Decker and Christopher arrived early at Christopher's office at the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization. Jack Redmond's arrival time would be dependent on Rome's morning traffic. FAO headquarters occupied an immense building complex covering more than four square blocks in the modern city of Rome and towering well above all of the surrounding buildings. Located on Viale delle Terme di Caracalla, the FAO employed more than 2500 professional administrative personnel with a biannual budget of two and a half billion dollars.

At Christopher's office they were greeted by a young, attractive Italian woman. "Buon giorno, Signore Goodman," the woman said.

"Good morning, Maria," Christopher answered in English. "This is my very good friend, Mr. Decker Hawthorne, Director of Public Affairs of the United Nations. Decker, this is Maria Sabetini."

"Mr. Hawthorne, it's a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Goodman mentions you frequently."

"The pleasure is all mine," Decker answered. "Are you any relation to President Sabetini?" he asked, recognizing that she bore the same last name as Italy's president.

"Maria is the president's youngest daughter," Christopher answered.

"Oh… uh, well, then it's even more of a pleasure." Decker tried to not seem too surprised, but the question about her name had just been small talk; he never expected the answer he got.

"Mr. Redmond will be arriving a little later," Christopher told Maria. "When he gets here, please, show him in."

After Christopher closed the door behind them Decker blurted out, "Your secretary is the Italian president's daughter?!"

Christopher shook his head, trying not to make too much of it. "She's not a secretary, she's an administrative assistant," he said. "She wanted a job. And I needed an administrative assistant."

"Yeah, but the president's daughter?"

"It was Secretary Milner's idea." Decker's expression requested an explanation. "Secretary Milner was here on some business shortly after I became Director-General of FAO. He and the president are old friends. I just happened to mention to him in passing that I needed to find an administrative assistant."

"I don't suppose it's hurt your relationship with the Italian government any," Decker said.

"No, things have been very cordial."

Christopher's office was spacious and luxuriously decorated and furnished. On the walls were pictures of Christopher with several members of the United Nations Security Council; numerous Italian government officials including the Italian Prime Minister, the Italian Ambassador to the U.N., and the Italian President; and with leaders of the Roman Catholic Church, including three cardinals. Most prominent in the room were two pictures displayed side by side, one of Christopher with Secretary-General Jon Hansen, and the other of Christopher with Robert Milner and the Pope. "You've been a very busy boy," Decker commented as he scanned the photos.

"To tell you the truth, most of this has been Secretary Milner's doing. He's been here four or five times a year since I've been FAO Director-General," Christopher said. Milner, now ninety, seemingly had not aged a day since the transfusion of Christopher's blood eight years before. If anything, he seemed younger, far younger. "I had no idea Secretary Milner had so much business in Italy."

"Hmm, neither did I," Decker responded. Decker was certain that Milner's frequent trips were not a coincidence. He was obviously doing everything he could to advance Christopher's position with those in power in Italy. It was not that Decker objected in any way; still, there was a mystery here. He didn't have long to think about it, though. His eye was caught by a familiar face in another picture of Christopher with a very distinguished man in front of the Coliseum. "When was David Bragford here?" Decker asked.