THE ALPHA PROJECT
A “Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator” blast from the past
Chapter One
Chapter Two – Back to the Future
That afternoon, Nicky drove Paul to his Aunt Jennifer’s for his regular visit. Paul was delighted because he loved his Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Jim and he had a great time with his cousins but Nicky and I were both relieved and worried. Relieved that we would have freedom of action and worried how or whether all this would affect our son.
When Nicky got back from her sister’s, she asked, “Now what?”
I sipped some bourbon and stared out the window. “Now we wait.”
Neither of us did much of anything except watch the sky for the rest of the day. We went to bed about 11:00 that night. When we both woke up, we were still at the mansion and all checks indicated that time was normal.
The sky started to get gray about 9:00 in the morning and got progressively darker as what looked like a storm quickly approached. Flashes of lightning started appearing in the sky but we couldn’t see any rain falling.
“I think this is it,” I said. Nicky took a deep breath. As the “storm” was just about on us, my wife grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. When it passed over our heads, we each felt nothing. But we were instantly someplace else.
We were standing in an open field. I could see houses a hundred yards or so away. An early suburb by the looks of it. “Any idea where we are?” asked Nicky. “Or when we are? And exactly when did we change clothes?”
I looked down. My apparel had, on its own, apparently become era-appropriate as had what my wife was wearing. The bills in my wallet all seemed to be from the 50’s and all my quarters and dimes had turned to silver.
Off in the distance, a couple of cars drove past. “Don’t know,” I said. “Judging by these clothes, my money and those cars, I’d say we’re in the late 1950’s but that’s just a guess. Let’s find a street sign.”
We found one. Albany. We walked a block south until we hit Oak Tree. “Let’s get back to that field,” I said, looking in all directions around me. “I know exactly where we are.”
“Where?”
“Webster Groves.”
“Where should we go?”
“How about my home? I’ll show you the old neighborhood.”
We quickly returned to the field and had just started to head southeast toward my childhood home when we suddenly came upon a young man in a patch of woods by himself. He was in his early 20’s, he had his back to us and he was digging up something.
“Hey!” I bluffed. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
The young man stood up and spun around. “I’m sorry, I just thought I…” Then he stared at both of us with the most astonishment and fear that I‘ve ever seen on a human face. “Oh my God!” he whispered. “You’re Chris Johnson. And you’re Nicole!”
My wife inhaled sharply. I pulled out my gun which had turned into an old Colt and pointed it at him. “Who are you?!!” I demanded. “And how did you know that?!!”
“My name is Bryson Chane,” he said. “And you’re right. The Church is manipulating time.”
“Where do you come from?”
“New York. The year 2557.”
“What year is this?”
“1957. And as you’ve no doubt guessed, this is Webster Groves, Missouri.”
“What were you doing there?”
“A test. I’m checking on something the Church sent back 600 years.”
“So the Episcopal Church pulled it off, did they?”
Chane looked confused. “The Episcopal…Church? Oh I‘m sorry, you haven’t experienced it yet. The process isn’t perfect as I guess you already found out. The time fields are unstable.
“But the Church has had some successes. Like when it ‘engineered’ the election of Pope Roger I in 2013. Nobody ever looked too close and if anyone did, they were called ‘kooks.’ Or worse.”
“Roger I? You don’t mean…?”
“Yeah. Roger Mahony. Who promptly called the Third Vatican Council and…”
“Gave away the store,” Nicky said quietly.
Bryson stared at the ground and wouldn‘t look up. “The whole inventory. Papal supremacy, priestly celibacy, women’s ordination, the Eucharist, the Real Presence, homosexuality, the Vatican, everything. Every Roman Catholic doctrine there was. Given away ex cathedra.
“I’ve studied your era. The Episcopalians signed on right away. Hell, Gene Robinson and Katharine Jefferts Schori said Mass with the new Pope at St. Peter’s when the Council was over.
“He moved the papal headquarters to the United Nations in New York and it’s still there. Rome and the Vatican are basically just big, struggling museums now. Nobody ever goes there much.”
“What about the Orthodox churches?” I asked. “Surely they held out.”
“They started on the Orthodox about the same time and picked them off one by one. Invented but plausible sex scandals, mostly. Not long after the Third Vatican Council, we were all one big happy family.”
“Where did the people who didn’t agree with these changes go?” I wondered.
“Here and there. Some tried to start churches that adhered to the old traditions but they didn’t last. With the surge in support for the Church from the media, from artists, from the movies and the Internet, it was impossible for parents to keep their kids in.
“In my time, they’re just small groups. And with media and political support, the Church teaches that those small groups are extremists. Terrorists, even. They’re blamed for everything. And if any one of them is found, he or she is sent away for ‘healing.’”
“Their euphemism for psychological operations. Change their thinking.”
“Nobody gets punished anymore. And their thinking always changes. The Church has had a lot of practice.
“The Church dominates the world. Nothing happens without its approval. It says who you can marry, where you can work, what your job is, where and when you ‘worship.‘ And the whole world is delighted by the idea. Heaven on earth, they call it.”
“Because no one has to think,” said Nicole.
“Exactly. It even took over the flag of the United Nations when the Popes were named permanent United Nations heads in 2015.”
“So the Church and the UN are the same thing?”
“Basically. The term ‘United Nations’ went out of official use 300 years before I was born. In my time, Turtle Bay is the Vatican and Mecca rolled into one.”
Nicky stared at Bryson for a long time. “This is the church you were raised in,” she said. “But you don’t seem to be at all happy about any of this.”
“I’m not,” Chane replied, still staring at the ground.
“Why?”
I saw his lower lip start to quiver. “You fell in love, didn’t you?” I asked.
Chane cringed. “You have to understand something, Mr. Johnson. A lot of us attend Church services every Sunday. “But we know that what we hear is wrong. We know that what they teach us is false.
“But we don’t know where to turn or who to turn to. So we just keep hoping that somebody somewhere will somehow get the truth to us.”
“Have you considered Islam? That’s at least part of the way there.”
“They did the job on Islam too. Somebody went back and had a ‘talk’ with Mohammed.”
The kid was about to lose it. “Then I met Susan and I was FREE. I finally knew the truth. And I could read the truth for myself. ALL of it! And I could truly worship the Living God!
“For three weeks, I thought I was in heaven already! Then I started studying the past at their library. Learning what actually had been.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“My father found out and Susan was arrested. The last thing she said to me was, ’Pray for me.’ When she came out five years later, she was ‘healed.‘ And she was…one of them.
“My family and I had to go through therapy too, just to make sure I wasn’t…you know…infected. My sister Mary and I told them what they wanted to hear.
“She found out the Truth before I did. I guess we convinced them because we didn’t do any time. And it helps being related to a saint.”
“John Chane? The Washington bishop?” asked Nicky.
“Yeah. Canonized in 2059. So it’s been a double life ever since. Working for and pretending to worship with the Church while secretly worshipping with my sister and my friends and hoping and praying that God will somehow break through again.”
He reached into a bag and handed me a complete King James Bible which I thumbed through. “Know what the penalty for possessing one of those is? Ten years ‘healing.’ Know what the penalty is for possessing anything deemed to be a Chris Johnson relic?”
“No,” I said.
“Life. They call it ‘protective quarantine.’”
“What exactly is a Chris Johnson relic?”
“Anything connected with your life in any way. You guys have no idea how much both of you are hated by the official Church in my time. And you have no idea how much both of you are revered by the underground church.” My wife smiled at the thought.
“They’re never going to believe I met you. And if I brought you back with me, I don’t think they could stand the shock. They’d tear you apart. But Mr. Johnson, you’re the only chance we have.”
Nicky sat down next to me and held my hand. I could feel that she was trembling. I stared at nothing in particular trying to take it all in. “What’s that thing you were digging up?” I finally asked.
“I don’t know.” He went over to the hole, picked something up and handed me a container made out of fired clay.
“I’m going to need to keep this.”
Chane looked a bit dubious. “Uh…okay.”
“When are you due back?”
“Next time shift.”
“Go. Hopefully we’ll run into each other again some time.”
The cloud was approaching so Chane stood up and grabbed my hand with both of his. “It was the greatest conceivable honor and the greatest conceivable encouragement to have met both of you, Mr. Johnson,” he said, his voice and hands shaking.
“It’s Chris. It was great to have met you too. Tell your friends that I’ll do what I can.” I reached into my wallet, found an expired driver’s license and handed it to Bryson. “Maybe this will convince them.”
As the three of us walked toward the cloud, Bryson Chane looked at what I had given him. His eyes were wide and he looked as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Nicky took my hand again.
Hope I can help you, kid, I thought as we walked under the cloud and were instantly transported back to the mansion. “Let’s get inside,” my wife told me.
When we got in, I shut the door, locked it and made a beeline to the bar to make myself an Anglican Investigator (Vodka, grape juice, a squirt of lemon juice, the tiniest bit of coarse sea salt (entirely optional) and some kind of fresh fruit for garnish. Preferably whatever’s in season. “Think globally, drink locally,” I always say).
“What is that thing Chane gave us?” I asked.
Nicole carefully opened it, pulled out a scroll and unrolled it. It appeared to be in Greek. My wife, who can read Greek fluently (a necessity when, among other things, you’re Matthew Kennedy Professor of the New Testament at Covenant Theological Seminary), quickly scanned the text and said, “This is Paul’s letter to the Romans.”
I sipped my drink. “Let me guess. Romans 1:26-27 isn’t there.”
“You’re right. How did you know?”
I ignored her question. “Run some tests on that scroll. I want to know what it’s made out of. Same with the ink. Get to my office as soon as you find out. I’m going to try to get hold of the others.”
“I’m on it.”
I went into my office and began making calls. Within fifteen minutes, Dale andhis wife, Amy, Mark Shea and Captain Yips were on the screen. Price had half his screen covered. “What did you find out?” I asked no one in particular.
“Nothing,” said the Captain. “It sure didn’t look as though Eddie Cicotte was serving them up at the 1919 World Series game I saw. But I was watching it through the outfield fence at Comiskey.”
“We discovered that the Vikings made it a lot farther south in America than people think they did,” Mark said. “Amy and I are going to do a little amateur archaeology this summer and we’re going to make some headlines. Also, Amy and I look really hot in deerskin.” Welborn punched Shea in the shoulder.
“Two things,” said Dale. “Main one being that they’re not all the enemy.” He looked to his right. “Mary, I’m going to show you who’s on the other end of this but I’m really going to need you to be calm about it, okay? Chris, this is Mary Chane.”
He pressed a button and a plain-looking young woman’s face came on the screen. When she saw me, Mary Chane started hyperventilating and her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. “Oh my god, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” she said over and over.
“Mary?” said Heather Price, quietly but firmly. “Please calm down. Now.”
Mrs. Price’s tone had the desired affect. Still staring at me, Chane calmed down, whispering, “It’s true. It is you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Bryson sends his regards.”
“My brother?! Was he there with you?!”
“Yeah,“ I said. “He went back. What else did you find, Dale?”
Price held up a scroll. “We found this. Leviticus.”
“Missing a few key verses about a particular topic?”
“Uh huh.”
“Had a chance to run any tests?”
“Not yet.”
Nicky came back in the room and sat down. “I think I know what you’ll find when you do,“ she said, holding up the scroll we found. “Paul’s letter to the Romans. Complete except that Chapter One, verses 26 and 27 aren’t there.
“This is papyrus. It perfectly matches the material the original Biblical texts were written on in every way. As does the ink. But it’s all brand new. This had to have been manufactured in the future.”
“But why?”
“Someone thoroughly versed in Greek and Aramaic goes back,” speculated Captain Yips, “and makes the acquaintance of the Apostle Paul, serving the Apostle any way he can. Paul asks for someone to journey to Rome to deliver his letter to the church there.”
“This person enthusiastically volunteers,“ said Heather. “But on the way, our friend takes out Paul’s letter, destroys it and inserts the forgery.”
“And every single Bible in the entire world instantly changes,” said Amy.
“Maybe all they need to do,” I said, “is to determine as close as they can when the oldest manuscript was written, go back, say, ten years before that and plant the document somewhere that can be dated. Maybe they include a coin hoard nearby or something.”
“Something found this year would be 2,000 years old even though, to them, it was made today,” said Welborn
“And the new discovery becomes the ‘best text’ and everything else is a later interpolation,” said Dale. “Or distortion. Which can now be safely disregarded by all theologians, whatever their inclination.”
“Older translations of the Bible are thrown out or relegated to libraries,” said Nicole, “while all future ones use the ‘best texts.‘ Problem solved.”
“I’m not privy to all the details of this project,” said Mary Chane. “But I think it’s a little bit of both. They’ll do whatever works.”
The doorbell rang and Nicky got up to answer it. A few moments later, she opened the door to my office and said in a low voice, “Chris, We have a visitor.” She looked behind her and made a slight shake of her head.
Bryson Chane entered the office. “Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry but I had to…”
“Bryson!” Mary Chane exclaimed. “What are you doing there?!”
“Mary! Why didn’t you go back?!”
“I’m not going back, Bryson!! Ever!! I’m free!!”
“Mary, they’re looking for you. Now they’re looking for us both.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“A major time shift,” said Chane, “takes a lot of power. They had enough built up but it wasn’t supposed to be used until the day after I got back to look for Mary. I made an unauthorized use of it to get back here. I had to warn you.”
“Warn me? Warn me about what?”
“They’re coming, Mr. Johnson. They’re coming here. Now. Your friends are in grave danger.”
Next week – In the Blink of an Eye
Chapter One
Chapter Two – Back to the Future
That afternoon, Nicky drove Paul to his Aunt Jennifer’s for his regular visit. Paul was delighted because he loved his Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Jim and he had a great time with his cousins but Nicky and I were both relieved and worried. Relieved that we would have freedom of action and worried how or whether all this would affect our son.
When Nicky got back from her sister’s, she asked, “Now what?”
I sipped some bourbon and stared out the window. “Now we wait.”
Neither of us did much of anything except watch the sky for the rest of the day. We went to bed about 11:00 that night. When we both woke up, we were still at the mansion and all checks indicated that time was normal.
The sky started to get gray about 9:00 in the morning and got progressively darker as what looked like a storm quickly approached. Flashes of lightning started appearing in the sky but we couldn’t see any rain falling.
“I think this is it,” I said. Nicky took a deep breath. As the “storm” was just about on us, my wife grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard. When it passed over our heads, we each felt nothing. But we were instantly someplace else.
We were standing in an open field. I could see houses a hundred yards or so away. An early suburb by the looks of it. “Any idea where we are?” asked Nicky. “Or when we are? And exactly when did we change clothes?”
I looked down. My apparel had, on its own, apparently become era-appropriate as had what my wife was wearing. The bills in my wallet all seemed to be from the 50’s and all my quarters and dimes had turned to silver.
Off in the distance, a couple of cars drove past. “Don’t know,” I said. “Judging by these clothes, my money and those cars, I’d say we’re in the late 1950’s but that’s just a guess. Let’s find a street sign.”
We found one. Albany. We walked a block south until we hit Oak Tree. “Let’s get back to that field,” I said, looking in all directions around me. “I know exactly where we are.”
“Where?”
“Webster Groves.”
“Where should we go?”
“How about my home? I’ll show you the old neighborhood.”
We quickly returned to the field and had just started to head southeast toward my childhood home when we suddenly came upon a young man in a patch of woods by himself. He was in his early 20’s, he had his back to us and he was digging up something.
“Hey!” I bluffed. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
The young man stood up and spun around. “I’m sorry, I just thought I…” Then he stared at both of us with the most astonishment and fear that I‘ve ever seen on a human face. “Oh my God!” he whispered. “You’re Chris Johnson. And you’re Nicole!”
My wife inhaled sharply. I pulled out my gun which had turned into an old Colt and pointed it at him. “Who are you?!!” I demanded. “And how did you know that?!!”
“My name is Bryson Chane,” he said. “And you’re right. The Church is manipulating time.”
“Where do you come from?”
“New York. The year 2557.”
“What year is this?”
“1957. And as you’ve no doubt guessed, this is Webster Groves, Missouri.”
“What were you doing there?”
“A test. I’m checking on something the Church sent back 600 years.”
“So the Episcopal Church pulled it off, did they?”
Chane looked confused. “The Episcopal…Church? Oh I‘m sorry, you haven’t experienced it yet. The process isn’t perfect as I guess you already found out. The time fields are unstable.
“But the Church has had some successes. Like when it ‘engineered’ the election of Pope Roger I in 2013. Nobody ever looked too close and if anyone did, they were called ‘kooks.’ Or worse.”
“Roger I? You don’t mean…?”
“Yeah. Roger Mahony. Who promptly called the Third Vatican Council and…”
“Gave away the store,” Nicky said quietly.
Bryson stared at the ground and wouldn‘t look up. “The whole inventory. Papal supremacy, priestly celibacy, women’s ordination, the Eucharist, the Real Presence, homosexuality, the Vatican, everything. Every Roman Catholic doctrine there was. Given away ex cathedra.
“I’ve studied your era. The Episcopalians signed on right away. Hell, Gene Robinson and Katharine Jefferts Schori said Mass with the new Pope at St. Peter’s when the Council was over.
“He moved the papal headquarters to the United Nations in New York and it’s still there. Rome and the Vatican are basically just big, struggling museums now. Nobody ever goes there much.”
“What about the Orthodox churches?” I asked. “Surely they held out.”
“They started on the Orthodox about the same time and picked them off one by one. Invented but plausible sex scandals, mostly. Not long after the Third Vatican Council, we were all one big happy family.”
“Where did the people who didn’t agree with these changes go?” I wondered.
“Here and there. Some tried to start churches that adhered to the old traditions but they didn’t last. With the surge in support for the Church from the media, from artists, from the movies and the Internet, it was impossible for parents to keep their kids in.
“In my time, they’re just small groups. And with media and political support, the Church teaches that those small groups are extremists. Terrorists, even. They’re blamed for everything. And if any one of them is found, he or she is sent away for ‘healing.’”
“Their euphemism for psychological operations. Change their thinking.”
“Nobody gets punished anymore. And their thinking always changes. The Church has had a lot of practice.
“The Church dominates the world. Nothing happens without its approval. It says who you can marry, where you can work, what your job is, where and when you ‘worship.‘ And the whole world is delighted by the idea. Heaven on earth, they call it.”
“Because no one has to think,” said Nicole.
“Exactly. It even took over the flag of the United Nations when the Popes were named permanent United Nations heads in 2015.”
“So the Church and the UN are the same thing?”
“Basically. The term ‘United Nations’ went out of official use 300 years before I was born. In my time, Turtle Bay is the Vatican and Mecca rolled into one.”
Nicky stared at Bryson for a long time. “This is the church you were raised in,” she said. “But you don’t seem to be at all happy about any of this.”
“I’m not,” Chane replied, still staring at the ground.
“Why?”
I saw his lower lip start to quiver. “You fell in love, didn’t you?” I asked.
Chane cringed. “You have to understand something, Mr. Johnson. A lot of us attend Church services every Sunday. “But we know that what we hear is wrong. We know that what they teach us is false.
“But we don’t know where to turn or who to turn to. So we just keep hoping that somebody somewhere will somehow get the truth to us.”
“Have you considered Islam? That’s at least part of the way there.”
“They did the job on Islam too. Somebody went back and had a ‘talk’ with Mohammed.”
The kid was about to lose it. “Then I met Susan and I was FREE. I finally knew the truth. And I could read the truth for myself. ALL of it! And I could truly worship the Living God!
“For three weeks, I thought I was in heaven already! Then I started studying the past at their library. Learning what actually had been.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“My father found out and Susan was arrested. The last thing she said to me was, ’Pray for me.’ When she came out five years later, she was ‘healed.‘ And she was…one of them.
“My family and I had to go through therapy too, just to make sure I wasn’t…you know…infected. My sister Mary and I told them what they wanted to hear.
“She found out the Truth before I did. I guess we convinced them because we didn’t do any time. And it helps being related to a saint.”
“John Chane? The Washington bishop?” asked Nicky.
“Yeah. Canonized in 2059. So it’s been a double life ever since. Working for and pretending to worship with the Church while secretly worshipping with my sister and my friends and hoping and praying that God will somehow break through again.”
He reached into a bag and handed me a complete King James Bible which I thumbed through. “Know what the penalty for possessing one of those is? Ten years ‘healing.’ Know what the penalty is for possessing anything deemed to be a Chris Johnson relic?”
“No,” I said.
“Life. They call it ‘protective quarantine.’”
“What exactly is a Chris Johnson relic?”
“Anything connected with your life in any way. You guys have no idea how much both of you are hated by the official Church in my time. And you have no idea how much both of you are revered by the underground church.” My wife smiled at the thought.
“They’re never going to believe I met you. And if I brought you back with me, I don’t think they could stand the shock. They’d tear you apart. But Mr. Johnson, you’re the only chance we have.”
Nicky sat down next to me and held my hand. I could feel that she was trembling. I stared at nothing in particular trying to take it all in. “What’s that thing you were digging up?” I finally asked.
“I don’t know.” He went over to the hole, picked something up and handed me a container made out of fired clay.
“I’m going to need to keep this.”
Chane looked a bit dubious. “Uh…okay.”
“When are you due back?”
“Next time shift.”
“Go. Hopefully we’ll run into each other again some time.”
The cloud was approaching so Chane stood up and grabbed my hand with both of his. “It was the greatest conceivable honor and the greatest conceivable encouragement to have met both of you, Mr. Johnson,” he said, his voice and hands shaking.
“It’s Chris. It was great to have met you too. Tell your friends that I’ll do what I can.” I reached into my wallet, found an expired driver’s license and handed it to Bryson. “Maybe this will convince them.”
As the three of us walked toward the cloud, Bryson Chane looked at what I had given him. His eyes were wide and he looked as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Nicky took my hand again.
Hope I can help you, kid, I thought as we walked under the cloud and were instantly transported back to the mansion. “Let’s get inside,” my wife told me.
When we got in, I shut the door, locked it and made a beeline to the bar to make myself an Anglican Investigator (Vodka, grape juice, a squirt of lemon juice, the tiniest bit of coarse sea salt (entirely optional) and some kind of fresh fruit for garnish. Preferably whatever’s in season. “Think globally, drink locally,” I always say).
“What is that thing Chane gave us?” I asked.
Nicole carefully opened it, pulled out a scroll and unrolled it. It appeared to be in Greek. My wife, who can read Greek fluently (a necessity when, among other things, you’re Matthew Kennedy Professor of the New Testament at Covenant Theological Seminary), quickly scanned the text and said, “This is Paul’s letter to the Romans.”
I sipped my drink. “Let me guess. Romans 1:26-27 isn’t there.”
“You’re right. How did you know?”
I ignored her question. “Run some tests on that scroll. I want to know what it’s made out of. Same with the ink. Get to my office as soon as you find out. I’m going to try to get hold of the others.”
“I’m on it.”
I went into my office and began making calls. Within fifteen minutes, Dale andhis wife, Amy, Mark Shea and Captain Yips were on the screen. Price had half his screen covered. “What did you find out?” I asked no one in particular.
“Nothing,” said the Captain. “It sure didn’t look as though Eddie Cicotte was serving them up at the 1919 World Series game I saw. But I was watching it through the outfield fence at Comiskey.”
“We discovered that the Vikings made it a lot farther south in America than people think they did,” Mark said. “Amy and I are going to do a little amateur archaeology this summer and we’re going to make some headlines. Also, Amy and I look really hot in deerskin.” Welborn punched Shea in the shoulder.
“Two things,” said Dale. “Main one being that they’re not all the enemy.” He looked to his right. “Mary, I’m going to show you who’s on the other end of this but I’m really going to need you to be calm about it, okay? Chris, this is Mary Chane.”
He pressed a button and a plain-looking young woman’s face came on the screen. When she saw me, Mary Chane started hyperventilating and her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. “Oh my god, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” she said over and over.
“Mary?” said Heather Price, quietly but firmly. “Please calm down. Now.”
Mrs. Price’s tone had the desired affect. Still staring at me, Chane calmed down, whispering, “It’s true. It is you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Bryson sends his regards.”
“My brother?! Was he there with you?!”
“Yeah,“ I said. “He went back. What else did you find, Dale?”
Price held up a scroll. “We found this. Leviticus.”
“Missing a few key verses about a particular topic?”
“Uh huh.”
“Had a chance to run any tests?”
“Not yet.”
Nicky came back in the room and sat down. “I think I know what you’ll find when you do,“ she said, holding up the scroll we found. “Paul’s letter to the Romans. Complete except that Chapter One, verses 26 and 27 aren’t there.
“This is papyrus. It perfectly matches the material the original Biblical texts were written on in every way. As does the ink. But it’s all brand new. This had to have been manufactured in the future.”
“But why?”
“Someone thoroughly versed in Greek and Aramaic goes back,” speculated Captain Yips, “and makes the acquaintance of the Apostle Paul, serving the Apostle any way he can. Paul asks for someone to journey to Rome to deliver his letter to the church there.”
“This person enthusiastically volunteers,“ said Heather. “But on the way, our friend takes out Paul’s letter, destroys it and inserts the forgery.”
“And every single Bible in the entire world instantly changes,” said Amy.
“Maybe all they need to do,” I said, “is to determine as close as they can when the oldest manuscript was written, go back, say, ten years before that and plant the document somewhere that can be dated. Maybe they include a coin hoard nearby or something.”
“Something found this year would be 2,000 years old even though, to them, it was made today,” said Welborn
“And the new discovery becomes the ‘best text’ and everything else is a later interpolation,” said Dale. “Or distortion. Which can now be safely disregarded by all theologians, whatever their inclination.”
“Older translations of the Bible are thrown out or relegated to libraries,” said Nicole, “while all future ones use the ‘best texts.‘ Problem solved.”
“I’m not privy to all the details of this project,” said Mary Chane. “But I think it’s a little bit of both. They’ll do whatever works.”
The doorbell rang and Nicky got up to answer it. A few moments later, she opened the door to my office and said in a low voice, “Chris, We have a visitor.” She looked behind her and made a slight shake of her head.
Bryson Chane entered the office. “Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry but I had to…”
“Bryson!” Mary Chane exclaimed. “What are you doing there?!”
“Mary! Why didn’t you go back?!”
“I’m not going back, Bryson!! Ever!! I’m free!!”
“Mary, they’re looking for you. Now they’re looking for us both.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“A major time shift,” said Chane, “takes a lot of power. They had enough built up but it wasn’t supposed to be used until the day after I got back to look for Mary. I made an unauthorized use of it to get back here. I had to warn you.”
“Warn me? Warn me about what?”
“They’re coming, Mr. Johnson. They’re coming here. Now. Your friends are in grave danger.”
Next week – In the Blink of an Eye
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