B00OPGSMHI EBOK
The Resurrection
Maker
Glenn Cooper
Lascaux Media
Copyright 2014 by Glenn Cooper. All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Davide Nadalin Design by Asha Hossain
Also by Glenn Cooper:
Library of the Dead
Book of Souls
The Keepers of the Library
The Tenth Chamber
Near Death
The Devil Will Come
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
No one knows what existed before zero time.
Perhaps it will never be known; perhaps it is inconceivable, existing beyond the ability of the human mind to comprehend the abstraction—because prior to a singular moment some 14 billion years ago, our universe simply did not exist. There was no time, no space, no matter, no gravity, no energy.
Yet, at the precise instant of zero time, everything presently in the universe was condensed into a single point, a unified force of unfathomable infinite density and heat. Then insanely large powerful and hot things began to happen within slices of time so miniscule that by comparison the tick of a second hand would seem an eternity.
At the instant of zero time, the hottest possible moment, matter and energy erupted from the single point.
The Big Bang.
Within a trillionth of a trillionth of a trillionth of a ten millionth of a second of the Big Bang, space and time were created along with all the matter and energy in the universe. The temperature was 100 million trillion trillion degrees.
In a billionth of a billionth of a billionth of a second, the universe had expanded to the size of the earth.
In a hundred thousandths of a second the universe had cooled to a trillion degrees and the most basic forces in nature had come into existence: gravity, the strong force that holds the nuclei of atoms together, the weak and electromagnetic forces.
Within one second after the Big Bang, ordinary matter formed into fundamental subatomic particles including quarks, electrons, photons, and neutrinos. Protons and neutrons followed; and it is perhaps during this second that a mysterious second kind of matter was also created: dark matter, a material so elusive that although physicists know with absolute certainty it exists, they have no firm idea what it may be.
For the next 300,000 years, the universe remained an enormous cloud of gradually cooling gas. When temperatures dropped to 3,000 degrees nuclei were able to capture electrons into their orbits and atoms of hydrogen and helium were formed. With the genesis of these first atoms the smooth, featureless universe began its transition to lumpiness. Webs of filaments connected matter, which pooled at intersections. Then gravity at the intersections coalesced hydrogen gases into the very first stars. When the stars ignited, their light ionized the hydrogen haze, turning space transparent.
During this period, dark matter became the dominant building block of the universe. This pervasive relic of the Big Bang, invisible and nonluminous, still exerted gravity much like ordinary matter. It permeated the universe. Everywhere ordinary matter existed, so too did dark matter. When galaxies formed, for every particle of ordinary matter there were six particles of invisible dark matter.
Over the first billion years, trillions upon trillions of stars were formed and so too were hundreds of billions of supermassive black holes, one at the center of every galaxy.
When huge primordial stars exhausted their energy sources they exploded as supernovas and released unimaginable amounts of radiation before collapsing catastrophically into infinitely dense light-sucking black holes.
And here is where the story begins.
Some 800 million years after the Big Bang, at the center of our Milky Way galaxy, a huge dying star went supernova, producing a massive cloud of antimatter and radiation.
Antimatter collided with the nebula’s existing hydrogen and helium just as a supermassive black hole started to form. The coupling of matter and antimatter created the greatest explosion the Galaxy would ever experience, violently pulverizing dust and gas within the surrounding reaches of space.
As the Galaxy cooled, pulverized bits of ordinary matter and dark matter fused. Virtually all the fused lumps were sucked into the black hole but a precious few glanced off its gravitational boundary.
Thus began the 13 billion–year journey within the vast Milky Way of one stray lump, an exceedingly rare hybrid of dark and ordinary matter.
A billion years ago, when the earth was 3.5 billion years old, that lump of matter entered the planet’s atmosphere and fell as a fiery meteorite onto a region that, in the course of millennia, would become Egypt.
The fire stone lay buried for eons as the earth became a living, breathing planet sprouting an abundance of life.
With the passage of time and the erosion of the desert floor, the lump would work its way to the surface and would be found in A.D. 31 by an alchemist, Nehor, son of Jebedee, who had an eye for rare minerals. He marveled at the wondrous properties of the melon-sized rock. He would soon cleave the fire stone, and use his skills to fashion it into a chalice—and he would devote himself to studying how to harness its strange power.
In two years’ time, Nehor’s chalice would be placed into the hands of an itinerant preacher named Jesus of Nazareth as he sat among his disciples in Jerusalem at the Passover supper before his execution.
And Jesus would die on the cross and he would be resurrected. And some would come to say that the chalice played a role in that divine act.
Soon after the resurrection, the chalice was lost.
Generations of seekers would feverishly pursue the Holy Grail, sensing its power as more than symbolic and believing that it might hold the greatest answers to the greatest questions.
And to this day, the quest for the Holy Grail continues unabated.
1
Jerusalem, A.D. 33
A sandstorm swept the land, whisking the dry earth like a giant broom. An hour after it had passed, the air was still noxious and tinged with yellow.
Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, removed the scarf from his face and coughed a few times to clear his lungs. His eyes and throat stung from the grit. A sip of cool water would have gone down well but he had left his goatskin in his room; here, in the alleyway behind the stables, there was no one to provide a cupful.
The sun was directly overhead. He squinted at it through outstretched fingers. The storm had rendered the orb the color of blush roses. He dropped his hand and began to pace the alley. After a while, he sat on the ground and slipped off his chafing sandals to wipe the sand from his feet. He became so absorbed in the task that the man’s voice startled him.
“I am sorry to be late. The storm delayed me.” The man spoke Aramaic with a guttural Egyptian accent.
Judas rose and asked
him, “Do you have any water?”
Nehor was taller than Judas, perhaps ten years older, with a longer beard and straighter shoulder-length hair laced with gray. He had two straps across his chest, one attached to a cloth bag, the other to a skin. He unshouldered the skin and gave it to Judas, who removed the plug and gulped a mouthful.
“No one knows you came here,” Nehor said; though meant as a question, it came off as statement.
“I told no one.”
“Good.”
“I wouldn’t want them to know I had anything to do with you.”
“Then why did you come?” Nehor asked, reclaiming the skin.
They both knew the answer. Nehor was strong, Judas was weak. Often in the past when Nehor had commanded, Judas had obeyed.
“Your man said it was urgent,” Judas said. “A matter of life and death.”
“Indeed. Life and death.”
“Whose life? And whose death?”
“To both questions I have the same answer: Jesus.”
Judas’s face contorted into a scornful twist. “You were cast out. He refuses to have you involved with his affairs any longer.”
“That does not mean I have stopped loving him.”
Judas shook his head. “Please. Your actions were abhorrent. To do what you did showed contempt for his teachings—hatefulness.”
Nehor shrugged. “Only I can know what is in my heart.”
“So … you wish to talk to me about his life and his death. Tell me, do you want to kill him or save him?”
“Both.”
Judas dismissed the older man with a wave of his hand, turning to leave.
“Do not be a fool,” Nehor said. “Everyone knows the Temple elders are baying for his blood. They have petitioned Pontius Pilate to have him arrested. As we speak, the Praetorians are looking for him. You know what they will do when they find him. The Romans are short on mercy.”
Judas stopped to consider. “I will tell him to flee. He could go back to Galilee.”
“He won’t flee.”
“You are right,” Judas said sadly. “He will not.”
“He wants to be martyred.”
Judas wiped a tear. “I do not want him to leave us. None of us do.”
“That is why you must listen to me! I have a way to let him fulfill the destiny he has chosen—and for his followers to keep him forever.”
Judas had never been comfortable looking into Nehor’s dark magnetic eyes, lest they suck his soul from his body; but at this moment he could not resist.
“What way?”
“When will you see him again?”
“Tonight. We are to break bread with him at the Passover meal.”
“Where?”
Judas, as if commanded by Nehor’s eyes, pointed toward Mount Zion where the wealthy men of Jerusalem lived. “At a large house. A follower’s house. On the hill.”
Nehor reached into his cloth bag and produced a bowl the size of a pair of women’s hands, cupped together. It was the color of night, perfectly smooth and polished. He cradled it in one palm.
Judas inched closer, unable to take his eyes off the object. It wasn’t the bowl that was so remarkable but the thin halo surrounding it: an opalescent haze that obscured everything behind it. He was mesmerized.
“What is it?”
“A bowl; a chalice.”
“No ordinary bowl.”
Nehor nodded. “If you love Jesus you must have him drink from it at the supper tonight—but only him. Later, wherever Jesus goes, you must go. The soldiers will come to arrest him. Make sure they know who he is.”
“A betrayal?” Judas exclaimed. His gaze remained fixed on the bowl.
“No, a gift. The greatest gift you could bestow upon him. Have no doubt, Judas, if it is not you who delivers him to his fate, it will be another. Better it should happen at the hands of one who cherishes him.”
“The others will know I have betrayed him. What shall I say for myself?”
Nehor removed a small leather pouch from his belt and secured it to Judas’s belt.
“Tell them you did it for silver. Now take the bowl.”
Nehor placed it into Judas’s trembling hands. It felt warm, the temperature of a forehead burning with fever.
“What will happen to him?” Judas asked.
“Something glorious,” Nehor said. “Something that will change the world.”
2
England, the Present
It was unseasonably warm for early March. During the short walk from the car park to the office, Arthur Malory sniffed at the rich organic smells emanating from the moist soil and turned his face to the sun long enough to set his skin tingling. For the first time since the dead of winter he had left his heavy coat home on a peg and taken only a thin sports jacket. Free of extra layers and woolen hat and gloves, he felt as liberated as the crocuses breaking through the earth. He happily swung his briefcase at his side. It was a damned good way to start the week.
Harp Industries, Limited had its administrative and marketing functions centralized in Basingstoke. Harp’s only fabrications plant in the UK was north in Durham. Otherwise the company had scattered manufacturing to the four winds, following the trail of cheap labor, much of it now in Asia. Arthur relished traveling to the plants, meeting with the engineers and floor workers, eating their food, soaking up their culture, making side trips to historical sites. He argued to his superiors that he couldn’t market Harp products properly if he wasn’t immersed in all aspects of the product development cycle. But the age of Skype and video conferencing was upon him and to his dismay his wings had been progressively clipped.
In the lobby, the receptionist, a plain woman with a big smile, greeted him with a particularly beaming one.
“Morning, handsome.”
“I know I am, but unless you had a bad row this weekend you’re married, luv.”
“It’s not me sayin’ it,” she said, waving a stack of company newsletters, “it’s this here.”
“Oh, Christ, give me one. I never should have agreed to it.”
On his way to his office he had to endure good-natured taunts from his colleagues, which he deflected with “I’ll get you for this” or “Your time’ll come, mate,” but when he closed his door he was positive his cheeks were brightly flushed. He sat down and started to read the front page, which sported a photo of him sitting on the corner of his desk staring at the camera with sincere blue eyes.
#
MONDAY PROFILE: ARTHUR MALORY—A MARKETING MANAGER WHO’S A REAL TREASURE
by Susan Brent
When you ask his co-workers to describe Marketing Manager Arthur Malory you are likely to hear words like dedicated, brilliant, handsome, considerate and respectful. Everyone around HQ at Basingstoke knows he’s an organizational treasure but how many know he’s a real treasure hunter!
Arthur joined Harp Industries eight years ago straight out of university where he earned a BSc in chemistry from University of Bristol. What’s a chemist doing at a physics company?
An article he wrote for the student newspaper on the challenges of communicating complex science to a lay audience caught the eye of Martin Ash, Marketing Director at Harp. “I could tell that this young man had a knack for communication and distilling key messages from a complex brew of information. He didn’t know it himself at the time but Arthur was a born marketer. He thought one of his mates was playing a prank on him when I rang him but, as they say, the rest is history.”
Arthur has risen through the ranks and is now in charge of the marketing efforts for industrial uses of our neodymium magnets. But how many employees know that in his spare time Arthur is a real-life treasure hunter? Armed with his trusty metal detector, Arthur prefers to spend his weekends tramping the countryside in search of buried goodies rather than pubbing or clubbing. And it’s not just to keep fit now he’s no longer playing rugby. He’s got a trove of old coins including some from the Roman era, Victorian jewelry, even a valuable old pock
et watch to show for it.
To what does he attribute his fascination with the past? “I’m not completely sure it’s true but the family lore and a bit of genealogy has it that we Malorys are descendants of Sir Thomas Malory, the 15th century author of Le Morte D’Arthur. Hence my given name, which has been imposed on many of my predecessors! When I was a boy I was mad about everything to do with King Arthur and I suppose that’s where I picked up my interest in history.”
When asked whether that interest persists to this day he assured me that it did, and when further asked if he ever set his treasure-hunting sights on the Arthurian legend he said that was indeed the case.
“I’d love to find Camelot. I’d love to find Excalibur and most of all I’d love to find the Holy Grail.”
Does he know where to look for the Grail?
“I have some ideas,” he answered, laughing. “But if I told you I’d have to kill you. Honestly, if I ever get a whole month off to travel I think I’d make some good progress.”
#
There was a knock on Arthur’s door and he tossed the newsletter down.
“Come.”
It was Susan Brent from HR.
“Like it?”
“Actually, it’s quite embarrassing.”
She issued a loaded grin. She was single. He was single. But because she was in charge of the company’s sexual harassment policies she had, mercifully from his perspective, left him alone beyond the mildest of hints.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone says it’s brilliant,” she gushed. “Besides, maybe you’ll meet some like-minded people in the organization. We have two thousand employees. You never know where a connection might arise.”
#
By late morning Arthur had grown weary of fielding e-mails and phone calls from far-flung Harp colleagues ribbing him about the article; so he almost ignored his ringing desk phone when, from the corner of his eye, he recognized the caller ID. It was Andrew Holmes.
“Hello, Andrew,” Arthur answered cheerfully, putting the call on hands-free. “This is a surprise. How’ve you been keeping yourself?”