“Ordinarily I’d say, ‘Yes, certainly,’ Your All Holiness, but then our entire effort would no longer be confidential. It may, of course, come to that eventually.”
“Well, thank God we have photographic copies of the entire text, Professor Weber,” Bartholomew said. “You and your wife were wise to preserve those precious words.”
The following days were a hurricane of intelligence sleuthing for Jon. While the Eastern Orthodox faithful were giving the Ecumenical Patriarch an enthusiastic welcome, Jon convinced the CIA’s Morton Dillingham to put the resources of the federal government, including the FBI, behind the case of the missing codex. In view of their past relationship, this had not been an easy task, but when Jon revealed the secret of the document’s extraordinary importance to Christianity-and the world-Dillingham gave in. He was also impressed with Jon’s savvy in trying to keep the find confidential as long as possible. Not a religious man himself, Dillingham nevertheless worshiped at the shrine of secrecy.
Over the next days, the FBI and CIA examined the fake codex in every way possible. They requisitioned the passenger manifest of everyone on the patriarch’s flight, including the flight crew, and did background checks on every name on the list. CIA agents in Istanbul asked the Turkish equivalent of Dillingham to do the same with all security personnel on duty that morning at Ataturk International Airport.
To Jon’s happy surprise, they pledged full cooperation. At first he wondered why Muslim authorities there would be willing to assist Christians in finding a stolen church document. He assumed it was because Turkey was a secular-not religious-state, a fact that the Turkish army had to remind the government of from time to time. So there was no Muslim fanaticism impeding their investigation. To be sure, the colossal significance of the codex was not mentioned to the Turks.
One overriding item, however, could not be overlooked. The possibility-indeed, the probability-had to be weighed that this was an inside job. How else could the perpetrator know the approximate size of the codex in order to plant the substitute? Or even know that the patriarch and his party would have the codex with them en route to the
U.S.?
And why was a fake codex necessary in the first place? Why not outright theft with nothing left behind as a potential clue? Jon found a quick answer to that one: the perpetrator didn’t want the theft discovered until the patriarch’s party had left Turkey-perhaps banking on the attache case not being opened until their arrival in the U.S.-in order to provide lead time to escape detection and apprehension.
In this scenario, someone at the patriarchate-perhaps their airport chauffeur?-could have been the perpetrator, either a Judas sort of Christian, or a crypto-Muslim member of the staff who somehow learned about the codex and its significance to the church. His motive? Eliminate a powerful prop for Christianity and do it in such a way as to leave the theft undetected as long as possible so all tracks could be covered. The perpetrator probably would have engaged several others to bring it off, either while unloading the limo’s trunk at the airport or at airport security in Istanbul, or-less likely-on the flight itself. Jon would discuss these suspicions with the patriarch by phone while he was on his American tour.
The week that followed presented no meaningful clues. Background checks on all business-class passengers showed nothing unusual, nor for the other main cabin passengers and flight crew. Quite a few of the passengers had Turkish, Middle Eastern, or Arab names and were therefore most likely Islamic, but this proved nothing. CIA labs showed only that the paper used in the fake codex was common throughout the Middle East, with most of it manufactured in Egypt. But the page size was foolscap, or sixteen by thirteen inches, a now-rare dimension that nicely approximated the size of the pages in the codex.
At dinner a week after Jon had returned from Washington, Shannon asked him, “Do you think we might be making too much of this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we already have every last word of the text of the Constantine Codex, including the true ending of Mark and Second Acts. We have all anybody needs for the authoritative edition of the codex. In fact, scholars will be using our enhanced copies, not the codex itself, so why are we falling all over ourselves at the loss of the codex? It would have been a disaster if the material hadn’t been copied, but it has. Sure, it would have been nice to have the codex on display, but at the end of the day, we really don’t need it all that much, do we? Certainly not because of the testing.”
“On that last point, sweetheart, sure, we don’t need it for testing, but the rest of the world does. I can just hear critics of our discovery complain: ‘Hey, these may be nice pictures of what’s supposed to be in that old book, but where’s the real thing? ’ Scholars wouldn’t have a problem working from our copies, but we’re talking acceptance here. Is the Constantine Codex just going to be a scholarly footnote in history, or will it be universally welcomed as the magnificent addendum to Scripture that it is?”
Shannon smiled wistfully at him. “You’d really like it if the last of Mark and Second Acts were added to the Canon, wouldn’t you?”
Jon thought for a moment, was preparing something evasive, but then blurted it out. “Yes. With every fiber of my being, in view of how it fills two major gaps in the biblical record. I have no idea if the new material will land inside the Canon even if the codex were returned, but I do know this: it will never happen without the codex.”
Shannon thought for a moment, then replied, “I hate to bring this up-and you may think I’m some sort of traitor-but isn’t our discovery of the Constantine Codex enough in its own right? Why is it so important that the new material be added to the Canon? As a Christian, I don’t really need it.”
“I don’t either. Not at all. But the non-Christian world does, Shannon. You know how heavily the Bible is being attacked today, and not just by atheists and agnostics. It seems to be a target for any half-baked pseudo- scholar with a new pet theory with which he hopes to pry Scripture apart and raise a sensation. Christ shows up as caricature in their put-downs, and the Resurrection is denied-for one reason, by the way Mark’s Gospel ends. The new material is strong support for the reliability of the New Testament.”
Shannon had started nodding halfway through his statement. “I’m hoisting a white flag on that one, Jon. Most anything is better if its two missing parts are found.”
Jon’s near mania to recover the codex led him down an extraordinary parallel track. Early the next morning, he put in a call to Kevin Sullivan at the Vatican. When he heard Sullivan’s “Pronto” on the line, he said, “Sorry to interrupt your siesta, Kevin, but we have to talk.”
“I don’t do siestas, Jon. Wastes time. But what’s so urgent?”
“For openers, how has Benedict XVI responded to the Constantine Codex?”
“Didn’t you get my letter yet? I put it into hard copy since I also wanted a permanent record. The Holy Father greeted the news as if it were some sort of beatific revelation. And after he had read the new material, he seemed to be on cloud ten.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be cloud nine?”
“No, papal privilege. I’ve never seen him so enthused, never seen him happier. Don’t forget, he’s also a biblical scholar, and he saw at once how magnificently it all fit. He sends you his warmest greetings and, above all, his profound gratitude.”
“Wow! Coming from the pope himself, that’s… quite humbling.”
“But he does have an urgent question for you, and here it is: ‘ When may I share this glad news?’”
“In response to that, I have some… some very bad news.” Jon went on to report the theft of the codex and the status of its attempted recovery. Sullivan asked questions parallel to the queue of queries Jon had raised with Patriarch Bartholomew. Summing up the unhappy situation, Jon said, “So we’ve lost our main material link to one of the greatest manuscript discoveries ever. But I do have an idea for another route, Kevin. Before I suggest it, what’s the security arrangement on your phone lines at the Vatican?”
“No problem there at all. They’re fully secure.”
“Still… can you get back to me this evening, using the private line at your apartment?”
“All right, Jon. If you insist.”
“Have to. Thanks, Kev. Ciao!”
That evening, were an earwitness present in Sullivan’s Rome apartment, he would have heard one side of a
