Tartarus: Kingdom Wars II, page 4
Jana ignored them. “Is it because she’s a doctoral student at the University of San Diego, specializing in the study of particle physics?”
Dr. Whitson’s face turned beet red. He was on the verge of losing control.
Jana took another step forward. “Is it because there are references to scientific findings in the third manuscript that had not yet been discovered? References to things like the Doppler Effect, DNA, dark matter, bosons, wormholes—”
“This press conference is over!” Dr. Whitson pronounced.
“—black holes, neutrinos, entanglement, and quantum teleportation?” Jana shouted. “Miss Ling, do you care to comment?”
“I said, this press conference is over!” Whitson repeated.
“And why is he here?” Jana pointed at me with her pen. “Why would you need the services of a—”
When she looked at me, she stopped midsentence. She knew my secret. And she knew I wanted it kept a secret.
“A what?” the pesky reporter prompted.
“A Pulitzer Prize–winning biographer,” I answered for her.
Jana let it go at that.
This time the press conference was over. Sue Ling was wheeling the professor down the ramp with Dr. Whitson on her heels. They ignored the barrage of questions coming from the press.
Students cradling armloads of press packets appeared at the doorways.
CHAPTER 3
What was that all about?”
Jana finished jotting down a note on her pad before answering me. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, What do I mean? Why did you attack them like that?”
She frowned. “I didn’t attack them. I was just doing my job.”
“Jana, I’ve attended enough press conferences to know an attack when I see one.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I was being aggressive. That’s what network-level reporters do. They were hiding something. I wanted to know why. That’s how the game is played.”
“But Sue and the professor are your friends.”
“Exactly, though I think the professor got his feathers ruffled a bit. But he’ll get over it. You have to develop a thick hide to play in the big leagues. As for Sue, she understands it’s not personal. I was only doing my job.”
“I’m not so sure—”
Jana turned to her team. “Wrap things up, boys. We have an exclusive in the president’s office.”
At that moment Sue Ling came toward us, her face expressionless.
“There she is now!” Jana said cheerily.
Sue didn’t acknowledge Jana. She walked up to me. “Grant, the professor would like to talk to you.”
“Should I wait here?” Jana asked.
“What?” Sue turned on Jana with fire in her eyes.
“The exclusive,” Jana said, taken aback.
“You don’t have the proper credentials,” Sue replied. “The exclusive was offered to a friend.”
Turning her back, Sue walked away.
“You can’t be serious,” Jana replied. “I was just doing my job.”
Sue turned back. “Grant, are you coming?”
Jana touched my arm, holding me back. “Grant is having coffee with me.”
All of a sudden the proverbial rock and a hard place looked like the setting for a vacation retreat.
“Please don’t do this, ladies,” I said.
“The professor’s waiting,” Sue replied.
Jana intertwined her arm with mine. “Bruno’s? Or would you prefer a coffeehouse?”
“Sue, would it be possible for me to meet with the professor this afternoon?”
Her reply was an icy stare.
“Jana,” I pleaded. “How about lunch? You can pick the restaurant.”
She released me and stepped away. “I see—”
“It’s just that this is really important. Future of the world important.”
“Can I quote you on that, Mr. Austin?” Jana said.
Sue interceded for me. “You do and our friendship’s over.”
“What friendship?” Jana replied, pivoting on her heel. “Come on, boys. Let’s get out of here.”
“Sue, wait for me!”
I’d lingered to make a final—unsuccessful—appeal to Jana, then had to run to catch up with Sue, who was propelled by a full head of steam.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” I said. “Jana’s been your friend for a long time.”
Without slowing down, Sue said, “She always has to have her way, no matter who it hurts. Everything’s always about her.”
“All I’m saying is that under the circumstances you should cut each other a little slack.”
“A little slack?” Sue exclaimed. “She was out of line at the press conference and you know it.”
While I was no stranger to Sue Ling’s verbal jabs, I’d never seen her this upset. We walked the remainder of the distance to the president’s office in silence.
Jana stormed across the parking lot like a tornado in search of a trailer park. Ostermann and the cameraman had to step lively to keep up with her.
Why is Sue Ling acting like this? Of all people, she should understand.
Jana yanked open the passenger door of the news van. She paused, glancing back at the campus. Ostermann climbed behind the wheel on the driver’s side. The cameraman slid the side door open and loaded his equipment.
Jana slammed her door shut. “We’re not done here.”
With determined strides she reversed course. Ostermann and the cameraman exchanged glances. The cameraman shrugged and pulled out his equipment again.
At the top of the steps linking the parking lot to the campus there was a sign.
ADMINISTRATION BUILDING
An arrow pointed left. Jana turned right toward the heart of the campus.
The hallways could have been any small college in America between classes. Students strolled purposefully, but not hurriedly, to their next class. Clusters of friends formed, talking, shifting, and reshifting their textbooks as they walked.
Outside a classroom two girls huddled close together, their foreheads nearly touching. Suddenly a head popped up as though she’d sniffed an approaching threat. She turned in Jana’s direction. Her eyes lit with recognition. She said something to her friend.
The girls looked Jana over as she drew closer, starting with her shoes and working their way up to her makeup and hair.
They reminded Jana of herself and Sue a decade ago at San Diego State. On any other day Jana would have viewed a cluster of coeds as a prime source of information. Today, she stopped a boy who was going the opposite direction.
She blocked his path.
“Excuse me,” she said, touching him on the arm, “I was wondering if you could help me.”
The boy reacted to her touch as though it were electric.
He appeared small to be in college, with a mop of brown hair that didn’t show evidence of having been in the same room as a brush for at least a couple of days. The backpack under which he labored was plastered with comic book stickers.
Jana hadn’t chosen him at random. His stature. The figures of superheroes on his backpack. The boy fantasized about heroes. She was going to give him a chance to live out his fantasy by rescuing a damsel in distress.
“I’m looking for Tiffany Sproul,” she said. “I was hoping you could tell me where I might find her.”
The boy stared at Jana as though she were a goddess having descended from Mt. Olympus. His jaw worked, but all he made were guttural sounds. He looked as if he might swallow his tongue.
“Um—Tiff—Tiff—Tiffany?”
“Sproul. Do you know her?”
A few feet away the coeds observed the exchange. If they knew Tiffany, they weren’t offering any information.
Ostermann and the cameraman weren’t helping. They made no attempt to conceal their amusement at the kid’s expense.
“I th—think,” the boy stammered, “Tiff—Tiffany has class now. I think. But I can’t say with 100 percent certainty. Not 100 percent.”
“Do you know which class?”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. Desperately he wanted to know, but he didn’t.
With sudden inspiration, he said, “The office! They’ll know! I can take you to the office! They’ll know!”
Had he a cape, he would have flown her there. But for Jana going to the office was out of the question.
“Thank you, all the same,” she said.
The boy’s enthusiasm collapsed. He couldn’t have been any more defeated if she’d exposed him to kryptonite.
The hallway was emptying. It appeared Jana was going to have to ask the girls.
Just then, the boy straightened up.
“There!” he exclaimed in triumph.
Jana turned to see two girls walking toward them. Neither of them was Tiffany Sproul.
“The tall one!” the boy said. “That’s Tiffany’s roommate!”
Jana rewarded her hero with a smile and squeeze of his arm. His face and neck blazed red against the blue collar of his shirt.
Her heels clicking, Jana closed in on the tall girl, a model-thin brunette.
“Can I have a moment? I’m looking for your roommate.”
The brunette did a classic double-take, the kind Jana encountered frequently whenever people recognized her. An instant later an invisible alarm sounded in the girl’s head. Her expression became guarded.
Jana repeated her request. “Can you tell me where I can find Tiffany?”
“I don’t think Tiffany wants to talk to anyone right now.”
Jana used her celebrity smile. “I want to interview her for the news.”
The brunette glanced at Ostermann and the cameraman. “Yeah—but, that’s just it. I don’t think Tiffany wants to be interviewed.”
“Don’t you think Tiffany should make that decision for herself?” Jana said.
The brunette didn’t have a good answer for that question.
Moments later Jana was hurrying down another hallway as the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. Tiffany Sproul was at the far end of the corridor, just about to enter a classroom.
Jana called out to her. When Tiffany saw who it was, her face clouded over.
“Can we talk?” Jana labored for breath.
“I have class,” Tiffany replied, half in and half out of the classroom.
A male voice from inside said, “Miss Sproul, will you be joining us today?”
“It will only take a few minutes,” Jana insisted. “I’m sure your professor will understand.”
“Miss Sproul,” the voice boomed. “Either join us or close the door.”
Tiffany glanced longingly into the classroom. With a sigh, she closed the door.
“Is there some place we can go?” Jana said.
“Not them.” Tiffany indicated Ostermann and the cameraman. “I don’t want to be on camera.”
Ostermann started to object.
Jana cut him off. “All right. Fine. It’ll just be you and me.”
“No, not fine,” Ostermann objected. “We need a film clip.”
“Wait for me in the van,” Jana said to him.
Ostermann began to object again. Jana shut him down with a glance. Letting loose an exasperated huff, he stomped away. The cameraman didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He shrugged and lugged his equipment down the hallway.
“Out here.” Tiffany led Jana to an open courtyard with trees planted in six-foot-square wooden boxes. The perimeter of the planters were benches.
Tiffany set her books down, then sat beside them. Folding her hands in her lap, she stared straight ahead. Jana reached for a recorder in her purse, then thought better of it.
“What do you want to know?” the girl said. “You were at the press conference. I have nothing else to say.”
Jana suppressed a grin. It wasn’t unusual for people she interviewed to attempt to control the direction of the interview, especially if they were hiding something. Tiffany didn’t know it, but she had just confirmed Jana’s suspicions.
“The press conference gave me the facts about the discovery,” Jana said. “I want to know what it was like for you—a student and a young woman—to make such an incredible find.”
Tiffany shrugged. “I got lucky, that’s all.”
She folded her arms defensively. Jana noticed the girl’s shoulders. Swimmer’s shoulders, wide and strong. This close to her, her freckles were prominent.
“OK, so you got lucky,” Jana said. “A bored shepherd boy threw rocks into a cave and found the Dead Sea Scrolls. Sometimes that’s how discoveries are made.”
Tiffany turned away. She fought her emotions. “I just wish I’d never gone on that trip. I wasn’t even their first choice, did you know that? A guy in Ft. Lauderdale was supposed to go, but he crushed his leg in a motorcycle accident. When they called me I thought it was a lucky break.”
She chuckled at her unintended pun. Her grin faded quickly.
“But now—I don’t know.”
She began to weep.
Jana handed her a tissue and waited patiently for her to compose herself. Softly, she said, “Tiffany, something is obviously troubling you. With all the attention these manuscripts are generating, you know it’s going to come out. What are you afraid of?”
CHAPTER 4
Dark mahogany wood dominated the décor in Dr. Whitson’s office, complemented by forest green carpeting and drapes. It was as dim as a cave.
Four chairs had been arranged in a semicircle facing a laptop computer on the conference table. The professor had wheeled himself between the two middle chairs. Dr. Whitson sat to one side of him. Sue Ling took the chair on his other side.
As I maneuvered into the remaining chair next to Sue, the professor said, “Your girlfriend betrayed us.”
“Former girlfriend,” I corrected him. “Jana and I haven’t dated since high school. And she didn’t betray anybody. She was doing her job.”
“Her job?” Whitson roared. “Blindsiding us in front of the cameras is her job? I thought you were going to talk to her be-forehand.”
“Didn’t have time. She arrived just as the press conference was getting started.”
“Well she certainly came loaded for bear,” Whitson complained. “Do you have any idea what I looked like up there? I call on her, thinking we have an ally in the media, and the next thing I know I’m being blasted out of the water.”
“Let it go, Marvin,” the professor said. “What’s done is done. The question now is, Where do we go from here?”
The professor was himself again. I’ve seen him get angry before. He has a summer squall temper. It passes quickly.
Sue, however, is a sulker. She slouched in her chair, her eyes fixed on things only she could see.
“Did you really think you could keep the third manuscript a secret?” I asked no one in particular. “Between news services and the Internet, everyone has instant access to everything.”
“We have an agreement with the Egyptians,” the professor replied. “They agreed to keep the contents of the third manuscript under wraps to give us time to investigate its authenticity.”
“To reveal it for the humbug that it is,” Whitson asserted. He was still heated.
I said, “It seems the director of antiquities has forgotten your agreement.”
“So it would seem,” the professor replied. “Marvin, have you seen the releases Miss Torres was quoting from?”
Whitson shook his head. “She probably fabricated them.”
“Jana wouldn’t do that.”
I was about to say the same thing. Sue beat me to it. She was still angry and sullen, but she knew Jana better than anyone.
“So then, what’s the big deal?” I asked. “If the manuscript is obviously fraudulent, where’s the threat? Whoever put it in the jar with the other two manuscripts made a mistake. Grabbed the wrong scroll. Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe he loved spoofs and slipped it into the jar as a joke. You know, something to confound future scholars. A time-released joke. Why not just refute it? It’s not like this is the first time this has happened. Just a few months ago…what was that manuscript that the media were fussing over?”
“The Gospel According to Judas,” Sue said.
“That’s it. And weren’t there others?”
“A number of others,” the professor replied. “The Acts of Thomas, the Epistle of Barnabas, the Epistle to the Laodiceans.”
“And the one about Jesus’ boyhood,” Sue said.
“The Infancy Gospel of Thomas,” Whitson said, identifying it.
“Stories of Jesus’ boyhood?” I prompted.
Whitson elaborated. “A young Jesus fashioning pigeons out of clay and bringing them to life; bringing a dried fish to life; cursing a boy who fell dead on the spot; resurrecting a man who fell off his roof; carrying water in a cloth; stretching a wooden beam so that his father could finish constructing a bed.”
“So how is this third manuscript different?” I asked.
“Let me put it this way,” the professor said. “If Hollywood were to write a blockbuster script so as to undermine and discredit Christianity, this would be it.”
Whitson added, “We just can’t take the chance of its getting out until we’ve accumulated the necessary evidence to refute it.”
“How long will that take?”
Whitson and the professor exchanged glances.
“Show him the video clips,” Sue said.
Looking to Whitson for a decision, the professor said, “We’ve brought him in this far, might as well go all the way.”
“All right,” Whitson conceded, though not without a moment of hesitation. He stood. “You show him the clips. I’ll see if I can find out why Dr. Zahin has gone back on our agreement.”
As Whitson left the room, Sue moved to the laptop. The arrangement of the chairs suggested they had been watching the video clips while waiting for me to arrive earlier. With a combination of mouse-clicks Sue summoned the video to the screen.
The professor provided an introduction. “This was taken a week ago in the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem.”
I leaned forward in my chair.
