Post by DrGadget on Feb 1, 2008 0:01:48 GMT -5
(a short story I wrote)
Randall Clark was safely on the plane. Nobody followed him that he could see. There might be trouble at the London airport, but he would be safe for now. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t blow the plane up just to get him.
It was still a nervous trip. Randall declined the in-flight meal.
* * * * *
Theodore DiBartolo sat there impatiently, alternating between staring at the secretary and checking his watch. He fidgeted and fussed all the while. He had straightened his tie four times and used two shots of breath spray.
Mrs. Farmer was also anxious for the man to be seen. His constant fiddling, twitching, and nervous foot tapping was driving her insane. She had plenty of work to do that morning and didn’t need this weirdo destroying her train of thought.
Finally, the light came to life on the intercom. Before actually hearing his message, she said, “Mr. Clark will see you now.”
Theodore stood, wiped any residual perspiration from his brow with a new handkerchief, and opened his jacket to adjust his tie one last time. His breathing was labored and Mrs. Farmer braced herself mentally in case he somehow exploded.
Theodore opened the door to Mr. Clark’s office and entered. He closed the door behind him, leaving knob sweat on both sides of the door.
* * * * *
Randall Clark was comfortably seated behind his large desk, with a wonderful view of a completely hideous building across the street just behind him that blocked a perfect view of the New York skyline. His office was safe, he knew. Here, there were no threats or assassins. He wisely decided to hire other people to finish the investigation. Single people.
Randall looked up at Theodore and said, “Speak of the devil.”
Theodore wiped his hand sweat on the front of his jacket, leaving a visible wet spot. He then thrust it forward in anticipation of a shake.
Randall said, “Uh, that’s OK. Sit down. Please. Relax. You’ll have plenty of time to worry yourself sick later.”
“Thank you sir,” he said, selecting a huge leather chair to sink into.
Randall began, “Let me tell you a little about what we’re doing here. And then you can ask questions, OK? Here at Speakman Information Analysis, our job is quite simply that: to analyze information. Where other companies might provide simple raw data, or find out from other sources what they need to know, we do not. We are those other sources. Our job is to find new information that is not currently available.”
“I understand,” said Theodore, not really understanding at all. He was just happy that he found a good paying job. He had bills and they needed to be paid.
“Good. Theodore, many people think we’re in the Atomic Age or the Space Age or I’ve once heard someone say Jet Age. What Age would you say we’re in?”
Theodore had expected this question and had paid twenty dollars for the answer the day before, as if it would really help his chances. He said, “The Information Age?”
Randall said, “That’s right. My friend, we are in the Information Age. Where most companies content themselves with simply moving information from A to B, our job is to get it to A. This type of research is rarely done these days, and we ask a premium for our services. Are you with me?”
“Yes.”
“Most Americans have become happy with simply clicking a few buttons on a keyboard to find information. The problem with this is a type of inflation called ‘Trusted Data Syndrome’. The daily demand for information has become so great that fact checking has become an intolerable drag on the system. Spelling errors, unverified data, intentional lies… all of these are introduced every day. Even something as simple as forgetting to use the word ‘not’ makes an enormous impact. Because of the magic of new technology, people assume the Internet is all-knowing. Nobody buys encyclopedias any more. And since the Internet is assumed to be true and reliable, fact verification has been reduced to checking the information on the Internet. The information degrades and is then replicated everywhere because nobody checks it out for themselves. And if anyone ever does, there is no way to clean all of the degraded information out of every last Internet site. Nor is there any way to differentiate between something you investigated yourself and something you simply copied from another source. Do you see the problem? If I spend 20 years researching information, it has the same weight as a lie that someone concocted in a few minutes where he claims he researched it for 20 years. There is no team of experts and scientists going around verifying the content at people’s web sites.”
The implications of what Mr. Clark was saying began sinking in. Theodore said, “I have never considered that before, but it seems to be a major problem. Is anybody coming up with a solution to the problem?”
“No. The rate of data expansion is so great that by the time a mistake is found in any data set, several teams have already acted upon it and hatched their own flawed conclusions. Data mistakes have already become three and four generations deep. The contagion has spread. Knowledge increases every day, but none of it can be verified.”
“And what’ll come out of this?”
Randall said, “Sadly, the experts I’ve talked to predict that within 50 years, all of the data will be flawed or suspect. Eventually, it should all degrade into unverified gibberish. And since our economy is based on information now, the civilized world as we know it will collapse and we’ll have to relearn everything from the wheel up.”
“A Dark Age?”
“Yep. It’s unavoidable. But we will probably be dead before it affects us. So this isn’t our problem. What we concentrate on here at Speakman is the gathering of fresh information while such a thing is still possible. If projections hold true, it will be impossible to find fresh information in about 40 years, because the people actually doing the work will be tainted by the syndrome as well. How can you conduct scientific research if your understanding of the scientific approach is wrong? If you learned from the Internet, and by then everyone will have, then you’ve become another step in the problem. By then, many of today’s untainted experts will have died or retired.”
Theodore froze in the headlights.
Randall said, “It’s funny, because there are many parallels between our current state and the downfall of Rome. If the parallels hold true, then there will be 10 years or so of mass confusion, where all knowledge will consist of unrestricted entertainment and extrapolated opinion polls. The polls will work like this: If ten Internet sites say one thing and five say another, then the ten must be right. But this too will quickly collapse and then the Dark Age will arrive.”
Theodore said, “This is ghastly! Why haven’t I heard any of this in the news? Surely, someone would report this.”
“You’ll soon learn that information has champions and opponents. There are those who research information, those who preserve it, those who report it, those who ration it, those who kill it, and those who invent their own. I won’t name names, but there are also those who will profit from the current state. Most of these people will also be dead before society unravels, so they don’t mind all that much. Anyway, here’s your assignment.”
Theodore’s jaw hung open and his arm reached out reflexively for the assignment. He looked down in confusion at the folder handed him. He said, “How can I do this with what you just told me?”
Randall said, “Because this makes you part of the solution – at least in the short term. We add fresh untainted information to the mix, before it gets twisted, reworded, and ultimately destroyed on the Internet. Our work pushes back the upcoming Dark Age. By then, maybe it’s possible that someone will find a real solution. Who knows for sure?”
Ignoring the possibility of a miraculous solution, Theodore said, “But all our work today will be forgotten or untrustworthy in fifty years. What about the wisdom of the ages? Will that be gone too? What will happen to the teachings of Socrates, the writings of Shakespeare, and the works of DaVinci?”
“All gone. Nothing will be verifiable. By then, we’ll have dirty limericks written by Shakespeare. But it’s funny that you mention DaVinci. Our current mission involves him.”
Theodore was beside himself. How could Mr. Clark act calmly after dropping a bombshell like this on his head? He said, “This isn’t funny. I can’t believe this! Our society will be flipped on its belly by misinformation?”
Randall added, “Misinformation also directly involves our mission. It seems Leonardo may have had a hand in it as well. But I’m growing concerned that you may not be the man for the job. Do you feel alright?”
Theodore was still stunned. The pit of his stomach had dropped about 12 stories to the street and his sweat became cold. Everything below his neck had become numb. He said, “I… I just need a second to process all this. Do you have a restroom?”
“Over there.”
* * * * *
Theodore DiBartolo had calmed down considerably after spending about a half hour in the bathroom. Upon return, his demeanor changed from that of someone who is anxious to someone who is eager.
Randall Clark noticed the profound change in Theodore. It was one of two expected reactions to the dire information he had just provided. The other reaction was to run out the front doors screaming, never to return. By staying, Theodore had just passed the interview. He had composed himself. The job now his, he stopped sweating and became much more relaxed. His bills would be paid on time and he could concentrate on the job.
Mrs. Farmer had just poured coffee for the two men and was blissfully unaware of the topic. Her job was to answer phones. She got back to it.
Randall Clark took it upon himself to break the ice anew. He said, “Are you ready to hear the particulars of the assignment I need you to perform?”
Theodore finished a sip of his coffee. He liked it black, no sugar. He was not the type of man who wasted time with frills. He was of the most serious sort, who could apply himself completely to any task, no matter how insignificant it seemed.
He said, “Yes. You were saying something earlier about Leonardo DaVinci falsifying information?”
“Nothing so blatant. We’re not even sure that he was trying to create a forgery. It may have been for personal reasons, but I would rather not speculate.”
“I see. So what is it that he allegedly forged?”
“Theodore, we have a client with very deep pockets who is trying to either prove or disprove that Leonardo DaVinci made the Shroud of Turin.”
“You mean that piece of cloth in Italy with an image of Jesus on it?”
Randall corrected, “A negative image of Jesus on it. The actual cloth sort of resembles a man, but a photographic negative looks exactly like a black and white picture of a dead man lying there, presumably Jesus.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the pictures. It’s eerie. Didn’t they prove that was real?”
“No. Actually, the tests were inconclusive. There is evidence to support it and evidence to discredit it. Pick a side. But one of the most compelling arguments against it is the carbon dating.”
Theodore said, “I happen to believe it’s the real thing.”
Randall was about to say something else, but instead asked, “Why?”
“Well, I’ve looked into this myself. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that image supposed to have been put there at the time Jesus was transfigured and ascended into Heaven?”
“That’s what a lot of people believe, yeah.”
“Well I don’t know what exact process took place when that happened, but God is invariably described as being blindingly bright, the source of all light, etc. What I’m saying is that if Jesus wore the Shroud when He was transfigured, then one must assume that the brightness of the event cast His image on the cloth. This is what the believers say anyway. If so, who knows what type of radiation that gave off? Light is radiation. This could easily throw off all your precious carbon dating. And there was evidently enough of this mysterious light to permanently render His image onto the fabric. This is why carbon dating is useless for the Shroud. If it came up with exactly 33 AD, I would suspect it to be a fake. The fact that the year is wrong helps prove it’s the real thing.”
Randall nodded his head. He hadn’t heard that argument before, but it certainly seemed plausible.
Theodore continued, “Also, I know that the early Christian Church had possession of the Shroud, as early as 300 AD. Archaeologists have discovered the art and writings of the early Church – then in hiding – and have noted an abrupt change at about that time. Before then, Christ was always depicted as a very old man with gray hair and beard, out of reverence. Age was directly equated to wisdom in those days, so they depicted Christ in the most favorable way they knew. But legend has it that the Shroud was rediscovered at that time. This is where we get our current image of Christ. The paintings and writings after the Shroud was rediscovered resemble the image found upon the Shroud. The early Church discarded the image of a grayheaded Jesus and opted for that of a young man instead.”
Randall asked, “You seem to know a lot about the Church history. Are you a Christian, Theodore?”
“I went to church there for a while. I need to get back in.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I haven’t actually gone to a formal Sunday sit-down church in about 5 years.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
Randall agreed, “Yeah. …but let’s get back to the Shroud. I knew the part about 300 AD because I started researching it myself before I was chased out of Italy. But this only proves that there was at one time a Shroud of some kind. It doesn’t prove that the one in Turin is the same one.”
“Why would Leonardo DaVinci forge the burial shroud of Christ?”
“Let me show you something, Theodore. This is a simple thing that all the other scientists who are investigating the Shroud have overlooked.”
Randall reached into his desk and pulled out a drawing of a man wrapped in a burial shroud.
“What do you see in the picture?”
Theodore looked at the picture and back at Mr. Clark. He said, “Well, sir, it… appears to be… a simple drawing of a man in a burial shroud. Is there something I’m missing here?”
“Take a look at the head. Do you notice anything special?”
Theodore looked again at the picture. The drawing wasn’t very detailed, so he couldn’t very well be expected to say something intellectual about it being the wrong type of cloth or a different type of weave than expected. There just wasn’t enough information there.
He said, “The head appears to be wrapped in cloth as well.”
Randall said, “Exactly. That’s why the Shroud of Turin is a fake.”
“I don’t see the connection. Why does that make it a fake?”
Randall reached back into his desk and withdrew a large red sheet of construction paper. He then reached behind him and pulled a bottle of water from his mini-fridge. He opened the bottle and splashed some all over his face. Then he centered his face on the construction paper and wrapped it around the front of his head, pressing down. He removed it and showed Theodore the side that contacted his face.
Theodore remarked, “Wow!”
Having wrapped completely around Randall’s face, the construction paper had darker red wet spots where it made contact. But the image of Randall’s face was about three times the size of a normal human head, with the ears facing forward. It clearly looked like Randall’s face, but was horribly distorted from unwrapping.
Randall said, “Exactly. The front part of the face is mostly normal, but the sides of the face are now unwrapped to the front as well. Now if this was the face of Jesus, you could still tell his age, but it wouldn’t look like a picture of a man standing there. The Shroud of Turin does.”
“You know what? You’re right. This reminds me of a costume that I had in fifth grade for Halloween. I was supposed to be a skeleton, but it only looked halfway real from the front. From the side, I just looked like an idiot in a black suit. The costume designers didn’t take wrap-around into consideration.”
Randall nodded his head. Theodore was definitely the right man for the job. He said, “Yes. It is the same concept, only in reverse. Now the real question, as you might be wondering, is why anyone would forge Jesus’ death shroud? Enter Leonardo DaVinci. He was easily the most brilliant man in the last thousand years. Einstein only excelled at physics. He was an abject moron compared to DaVinci. DaVinci mastered physics, painting, sculpture, mathematics, inventing, anatomy, everything. He always researched everything himself and never simply trusted what he read in a book by Aristotle or Plato. He could have made the Shroud.”
“Why not someone else? Michelangelo for instance?”
“To make the current Shroud of Turin would take a man capable of understanding anatomy in a time when nobody else would even consider it science, and convert a 3-dimensional wrap-around image into a 2-dimensional full-body portrait. It would also take someone who would dare defy every authority including the Church and the Crown. When you add all those attributes together, only DaVinci could have possibly done such a thing.”
Theodore said, “I see your point. But why would he?”
“We know he had a fascination with Jesus. His Last Supper painting revolutionized art by using the science of perspective – missing in previous paintings. By inventing the vanishing point, he made all previous art obsolete. I think he just wanted to see an undistorted picture of Jesus. Maybe someone told him his Last Supper painting was wrong because it didn’t match the real shroud. This may have pushed him to do it. I don’t know. This is what you need to find out for me.”
“But the picture was a negative, and we didn’t even know what a negative was until photography was invented.”
Randall said, “I considered that. But some of DaVinci’s writings were very cryptic. He had a lot to hide. His experiments with cadavers were strictly forbidden at the time so he had to study bodies in secrecy. Can you imagine the uproar if he tried to ‘improve’ the image of Jesus? It’d be blasphemy. Even he would have been excommunicated or put to death for it at the time. And perhaps he did figure out what a negative was. He was smart enough to do it. But who could he tell? If anyone so much as suspected what he was up to, they would have him for lunch. I’m sure if he was the one responsible, he withdrew from any further work in the field of negative images.”
“But how could he switch the two shrouds without anyone noticing such a drastic difference?”
“I seem to remember them once putting the Shroud in storage for a hundred years. Someone could have made the switch then. Other than DaVinci, nobody else would have dared make copies of it to compare against.”
“Wait a minute. They found pollen spores on the Shroud of Turin that matched the vegetation that lived in Judea at the time.”
“Yeah, so? All that proves is that the two shrouds were in the same room at one point, maybe touching. If I buried you in the Shroud of Turin you’d have spores all over yourself. Does that mean you died in Judea?”
Theodore said, “I see. That’s a good point. How do I go about the investigation?”
“According to your résumé, you speak fluent Italian.”
“Si, signor.”
“Good. There’s a priest in the village of Vito Contessi who is supposed to know something about the original shroud, or maybe one of the intermediate shrouds.”
“Is Vito Contessi near Turin?”
“No. And I never got the chance to speak with him. In fact, I never made it to Vito Contessi. Also he might have been killed by now. My departure was less than smooth.”
Theodore said, “Killed?”
“Maybe, or removed to a remote location. I don’t know. I can’t get through on the telephone. You did say you were never married, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. I wouldn’t think of sending a family man out on a case like this. But don’t worry. We’re very generous around here with hazardous duty pay.”
Theodore didn’t have much of a choice. He needed the money. And if they were going to pay him extra to do something he had already resigned himself to do anyway, so much the better.
“What’s his name?”
Randall said, “Father Nocenti. This is his phone number. He hasn’t answered it since I got back to New York. Good luck.”
Theodore quickly memorized the number before shoving the paper into his pocket. He replied, “Thanks, boss.”
Randall Clark was safely on the plane. Nobody followed him that he could see. There might be trouble at the London airport, but he would be safe for now. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t blow the plane up just to get him.
It was still a nervous trip. Randall declined the in-flight meal.
* * * * *
Theodore DiBartolo sat there impatiently, alternating between staring at the secretary and checking his watch. He fidgeted and fussed all the while. He had straightened his tie four times and used two shots of breath spray.
Mrs. Farmer was also anxious for the man to be seen. His constant fiddling, twitching, and nervous foot tapping was driving her insane. She had plenty of work to do that morning and didn’t need this weirdo destroying her train of thought.
Finally, the light came to life on the intercom. Before actually hearing his message, she said, “Mr. Clark will see you now.”
Theodore stood, wiped any residual perspiration from his brow with a new handkerchief, and opened his jacket to adjust his tie one last time. His breathing was labored and Mrs. Farmer braced herself mentally in case he somehow exploded.
Theodore opened the door to Mr. Clark’s office and entered. He closed the door behind him, leaving knob sweat on both sides of the door.
* * * * *
Randall Clark was comfortably seated behind his large desk, with a wonderful view of a completely hideous building across the street just behind him that blocked a perfect view of the New York skyline. His office was safe, he knew. Here, there were no threats or assassins. He wisely decided to hire other people to finish the investigation. Single people.
Randall looked up at Theodore and said, “Speak of the devil.”
Theodore wiped his hand sweat on the front of his jacket, leaving a visible wet spot. He then thrust it forward in anticipation of a shake.
Randall said, “Uh, that’s OK. Sit down. Please. Relax. You’ll have plenty of time to worry yourself sick later.”
“Thank you sir,” he said, selecting a huge leather chair to sink into.
Randall began, “Let me tell you a little about what we’re doing here. And then you can ask questions, OK? Here at Speakman Information Analysis, our job is quite simply that: to analyze information. Where other companies might provide simple raw data, or find out from other sources what they need to know, we do not. We are those other sources. Our job is to find new information that is not currently available.”
“I understand,” said Theodore, not really understanding at all. He was just happy that he found a good paying job. He had bills and they needed to be paid.
“Good. Theodore, many people think we’re in the Atomic Age or the Space Age or I’ve once heard someone say Jet Age. What Age would you say we’re in?”
Theodore had expected this question and had paid twenty dollars for the answer the day before, as if it would really help his chances. He said, “The Information Age?”
Randall said, “That’s right. My friend, we are in the Information Age. Where most companies content themselves with simply moving information from A to B, our job is to get it to A. This type of research is rarely done these days, and we ask a premium for our services. Are you with me?”
“Yes.”
“Most Americans have become happy with simply clicking a few buttons on a keyboard to find information. The problem with this is a type of inflation called ‘Trusted Data Syndrome’. The daily demand for information has become so great that fact checking has become an intolerable drag on the system. Spelling errors, unverified data, intentional lies… all of these are introduced every day. Even something as simple as forgetting to use the word ‘not’ makes an enormous impact. Because of the magic of new technology, people assume the Internet is all-knowing. Nobody buys encyclopedias any more. And since the Internet is assumed to be true and reliable, fact verification has been reduced to checking the information on the Internet. The information degrades and is then replicated everywhere because nobody checks it out for themselves. And if anyone ever does, there is no way to clean all of the degraded information out of every last Internet site. Nor is there any way to differentiate between something you investigated yourself and something you simply copied from another source. Do you see the problem? If I spend 20 years researching information, it has the same weight as a lie that someone concocted in a few minutes where he claims he researched it for 20 years. There is no team of experts and scientists going around verifying the content at people’s web sites.”
The implications of what Mr. Clark was saying began sinking in. Theodore said, “I have never considered that before, but it seems to be a major problem. Is anybody coming up with a solution to the problem?”
“No. The rate of data expansion is so great that by the time a mistake is found in any data set, several teams have already acted upon it and hatched their own flawed conclusions. Data mistakes have already become three and four generations deep. The contagion has spread. Knowledge increases every day, but none of it can be verified.”
“And what’ll come out of this?”
Randall said, “Sadly, the experts I’ve talked to predict that within 50 years, all of the data will be flawed or suspect. Eventually, it should all degrade into unverified gibberish. And since our economy is based on information now, the civilized world as we know it will collapse and we’ll have to relearn everything from the wheel up.”
“A Dark Age?”
“Yep. It’s unavoidable. But we will probably be dead before it affects us. So this isn’t our problem. What we concentrate on here at Speakman is the gathering of fresh information while such a thing is still possible. If projections hold true, it will be impossible to find fresh information in about 40 years, because the people actually doing the work will be tainted by the syndrome as well. How can you conduct scientific research if your understanding of the scientific approach is wrong? If you learned from the Internet, and by then everyone will have, then you’ve become another step in the problem. By then, many of today’s untainted experts will have died or retired.”
Theodore froze in the headlights.
Randall said, “It’s funny, because there are many parallels between our current state and the downfall of Rome. If the parallels hold true, then there will be 10 years or so of mass confusion, where all knowledge will consist of unrestricted entertainment and extrapolated opinion polls. The polls will work like this: If ten Internet sites say one thing and five say another, then the ten must be right. But this too will quickly collapse and then the Dark Age will arrive.”
Theodore said, “This is ghastly! Why haven’t I heard any of this in the news? Surely, someone would report this.”
“You’ll soon learn that information has champions and opponents. There are those who research information, those who preserve it, those who report it, those who ration it, those who kill it, and those who invent their own. I won’t name names, but there are also those who will profit from the current state. Most of these people will also be dead before society unravels, so they don’t mind all that much. Anyway, here’s your assignment.”
Theodore’s jaw hung open and his arm reached out reflexively for the assignment. He looked down in confusion at the folder handed him. He said, “How can I do this with what you just told me?”
Randall said, “Because this makes you part of the solution – at least in the short term. We add fresh untainted information to the mix, before it gets twisted, reworded, and ultimately destroyed on the Internet. Our work pushes back the upcoming Dark Age. By then, maybe it’s possible that someone will find a real solution. Who knows for sure?”
Ignoring the possibility of a miraculous solution, Theodore said, “But all our work today will be forgotten or untrustworthy in fifty years. What about the wisdom of the ages? Will that be gone too? What will happen to the teachings of Socrates, the writings of Shakespeare, and the works of DaVinci?”
“All gone. Nothing will be verifiable. By then, we’ll have dirty limericks written by Shakespeare. But it’s funny that you mention DaVinci. Our current mission involves him.”
Theodore was beside himself. How could Mr. Clark act calmly after dropping a bombshell like this on his head? He said, “This isn’t funny. I can’t believe this! Our society will be flipped on its belly by misinformation?”
Randall added, “Misinformation also directly involves our mission. It seems Leonardo may have had a hand in it as well. But I’m growing concerned that you may not be the man for the job. Do you feel alright?”
Theodore was still stunned. The pit of his stomach had dropped about 12 stories to the street and his sweat became cold. Everything below his neck had become numb. He said, “I… I just need a second to process all this. Do you have a restroom?”
“Over there.”
* * * * *
Theodore DiBartolo had calmed down considerably after spending about a half hour in the bathroom. Upon return, his demeanor changed from that of someone who is anxious to someone who is eager.
Randall Clark noticed the profound change in Theodore. It was one of two expected reactions to the dire information he had just provided. The other reaction was to run out the front doors screaming, never to return. By staying, Theodore had just passed the interview. He had composed himself. The job now his, he stopped sweating and became much more relaxed. His bills would be paid on time and he could concentrate on the job.
Mrs. Farmer had just poured coffee for the two men and was blissfully unaware of the topic. Her job was to answer phones. She got back to it.
Randall Clark took it upon himself to break the ice anew. He said, “Are you ready to hear the particulars of the assignment I need you to perform?”
Theodore finished a sip of his coffee. He liked it black, no sugar. He was not the type of man who wasted time with frills. He was of the most serious sort, who could apply himself completely to any task, no matter how insignificant it seemed.
He said, “Yes. You were saying something earlier about Leonardo DaVinci falsifying information?”
“Nothing so blatant. We’re not even sure that he was trying to create a forgery. It may have been for personal reasons, but I would rather not speculate.”
“I see. So what is it that he allegedly forged?”
“Theodore, we have a client with very deep pockets who is trying to either prove or disprove that Leonardo DaVinci made the Shroud of Turin.”
“You mean that piece of cloth in Italy with an image of Jesus on it?”
Randall corrected, “A negative image of Jesus on it. The actual cloth sort of resembles a man, but a photographic negative looks exactly like a black and white picture of a dead man lying there, presumably Jesus.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the pictures. It’s eerie. Didn’t they prove that was real?”
“No. Actually, the tests were inconclusive. There is evidence to support it and evidence to discredit it. Pick a side. But one of the most compelling arguments against it is the carbon dating.”
Theodore said, “I happen to believe it’s the real thing.”
Randall was about to say something else, but instead asked, “Why?”
“Well, I’ve looked into this myself. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that image supposed to have been put there at the time Jesus was transfigured and ascended into Heaven?”
“That’s what a lot of people believe, yeah.”
“Well I don’t know what exact process took place when that happened, but God is invariably described as being blindingly bright, the source of all light, etc. What I’m saying is that if Jesus wore the Shroud when He was transfigured, then one must assume that the brightness of the event cast His image on the cloth. This is what the believers say anyway. If so, who knows what type of radiation that gave off? Light is radiation. This could easily throw off all your precious carbon dating. And there was evidently enough of this mysterious light to permanently render His image onto the fabric. This is why carbon dating is useless for the Shroud. If it came up with exactly 33 AD, I would suspect it to be a fake. The fact that the year is wrong helps prove it’s the real thing.”
Randall nodded his head. He hadn’t heard that argument before, but it certainly seemed plausible.
Theodore continued, “Also, I know that the early Christian Church had possession of the Shroud, as early as 300 AD. Archaeologists have discovered the art and writings of the early Church – then in hiding – and have noted an abrupt change at about that time. Before then, Christ was always depicted as a very old man with gray hair and beard, out of reverence. Age was directly equated to wisdom in those days, so they depicted Christ in the most favorable way they knew. But legend has it that the Shroud was rediscovered at that time. This is where we get our current image of Christ. The paintings and writings after the Shroud was rediscovered resemble the image found upon the Shroud. The early Church discarded the image of a grayheaded Jesus and opted for that of a young man instead.”
Randall asked, “You seem to know a lot about the Church history. Are you a Christian, Theodore?”
“I went to church there for a while. I need to get back in.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I haven’t actually gone to a formal Sunday sit-down church in about 5 years.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
Randall agreed, “Yeah. …but let’s get back to the Shroud. I knew the part about 300 AD because I started researching it myself before I was chased out of Italy. But this only proves that there was at one time a Shroud of some kind. It doesn’t prove that the one in Turin is the same one.”
“Why would Leonardo DaVinci forge the burial shroud of Christ?”
“Let me show you something, Theodore. This is a simple thing that all the other scientists who are investigating the Shroud have overlooked.”
Randall reached into his desk and pulled out a drawing of a man wrapped in a burial shroud.
“What do you see in the picture?”
Theodore looked at the picture and back at Mr. Clark. He said, “Well, sir, it… appears to be… a simple drawing of a man in a burial shroud. Is there something I’m missing here?”
“Take a look at the head. Do you notice anything special?”
Theodore looked again at the picture. The drawing wasn’t very detailed, so he couldn’t very well be expected to say something intellectual about it being the wrong type of cloth or a different type of weave than expected. There just wasn’t enough information there.
He said, “The head appears to be wrapped in cloth as well.”
Randall said, “Exactly. That’s why the Shroud of Turin is a fake.”
“I don’t see the connection. Why does that make it a fake?”
Randall reached back into his desk and withdrew a large red sheet of construction paper. He then reached behind him and pulled a bottle of water from his mini-fridge. He opened the bottle and splashed some all over his face. Then he centered his face on the construction paper and wrapped it around the front of his head, pressing down. He removed it and showed Theodore the side that contacted his face.
Theodore remarked, “Wow!”
Having wrapped completely around Randall’s face, the construction paper had darker red wet spots where it made contact. But the image of Randall’s face was about three times the size of a normal human head, with the ears facing forward. It clearly looked like Randall’s face, but was horribly distorted from unwrapping.
Randall said, “Exactly. The front part of the face is mostly normal, but the sides of the face are now unwrapped to the front as well. Now if this was the face of Jesus, you could still tell his age, but it wouldn’t look like a picture of a man standing there. The Shroud of Turin does.”
“You know what? You’re right. This reminds me of a costume that I had in fifth grade for Halloween. I was supposed to be a skeleton, but it only looked halfway real from the front. From the side, I just looked like an idiot in a black suit. The costume designers didn’t take wrap-around into consideration.”
Randall nodded his head. Theodore was definitely the right man for the job. He said, “Yes. It is the same concept, only in reverse. Now the real question, as you might be wondering, is why anyone would forge Jesus’ death shroud? Enter Leonardo DaVinci. He was easily the most brilliant man in the last thousand years. Einstein only excelled at physics. He was an abject moron compared to DaVinci. DaVinci mastered physics, painting, sculpture, mathematics, inventing, anatomy, everything. He always researched everything himself and never simply trusted what he read in a book by Aristotle or Plato. He could have made the Shroud.”
“Why not someone else? Michelangelo for instance?”
“To make the current Shroud of Turin would take a man capable of understanding anatomy in a time when nobody else would even consider it science, and convert a 3-dimensional wrap-around image into a 2-dimensional full-body portrait. It would also take someone who would dare defy every authority including the Church and the Crown. When you add all those attributes together, only DaVinci could have possibly done such a thing.”
Theodore said, “I see your point. But why would he?”
“We know he had a fascination with Jesus. His Last Supper painting revolutionized art by using the science of perspective – missing in previous paintings. By inventing the vanishing point, he made all previous art obsolete. I think he just wanted to see an undistorted picture of Jesus. Maybe someone told him his Last Supper painting was wrong because it didn’t match the real shroud. This may have pushed him to do it. I don’t know. This is what you need to find out for me.”
“But the picture was a negative, and we didn’t even know what a negative was until photography was invented.”
Randall said, “I considered that. But some of DaVinci’s writings were very cryptic. He had a lot to hide. His experiments with cadavers were strictly forbidden at the time so he had to study bodies in secrecy. Can you imagine the uproar if he tried to ‘improve’ the image of Jesus? It’d be blasphemy. Even he would have been excommunicated or put to death for it at the time. And perhaps he did figure out what a negative was. He was smart enough to do it. But who could he tell? If anyone so much as suspected what he was up to, they would have him for lunch. I’m sure if he was the one responsible, he withdrew from any further work in the field of negative images.”
“But how could he switch the two shrouds without anyone noticing such a drastic difference?”
“I seem to remember them once putting the Shroud in storage for a hundred years. Someone could have made the switch then. Other than DaVinci, nobody else would have dared make copies of it to compare against.”
“Wait a minute. They found pollen spores on the Shroud of Turin that matched the vegetation that lived in Judea at the time.”
“Yeah, so? All that proves is that the two shrouds were in the same room at one point, maybe touching. If I buried you in the Shroud of Turin you’d have spores all over yourself. Does that mean you died in Judea?”
Theodore said, “I see. That’s a good point. How do I go about the investigation?”
“According to your résumé, you speak fluent Italian.”
“Si, signor.”
“Good. There’s a priest in the village of Vito Contessi who is supposed to know something about the original shroud, or maybe one of the intermediate shrouds.”
“Is Vito Contessi near Turin?”
“No. And I never got the chance to speak with him. In fact, I never made it to Vito Contessi. Also he might have been killed by now. My departure was less than smooth.”
Theodore said, “Killed?”
“Maybe, or removed to a remote location. I don’t know. I can’t get through on the telephone. You did say you were never married, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. I wouldn’t think of sending a family man out on a case like this. But don’t worry. We’re very generous around here with hazardous duty pay.”
Theodore didn’t have much of a choice. He needed the money. And if they were going to pay him extra to do something he had already resigned himself to do anyway, so much the better.
“What’s his name?”
Randall said, “Father Nocenti. This is his phone number. He hasn’t answered it since I got back to New York. Good luck.”
Theodore quickly memorized the number before shoving the paper into his pocket. He replied, “Thanks, boss.”
