The Resurrection File (29 page)

Now Will clicked. “Yeah, I know exactly who you are talking about. So, what can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to know whether you were working for the government in any capacity.”

“No,” Will said, “I've been in private law practice.”

“Did you have any connection at all with the case that the government was trying to build against my client?”

“None whatsoever,” Will answered, a little mystified.

The other lawyer took a second and then he said, “Okay then. If you're sure about that, then I'm sorry I bothered you.”

“Wait a minute,” Will interjected. “Why do you want to know?”

“I am calling from my office phone. I don't feel comfortable going into details. Since the point that I was appointed to represent Ajadi, I have been
under a microscope because of the national-security aspect of the case. For all I know my telephone is tapped.”

“Can you tell me what this has to do with me?”

“Possibly. Your name came up.”

“How?”

“My client, over the course of two days, was questioned by almost every agency in the federal government. But at one point, just one question was asked—it was a little bizarre actually. They obviously didn't realize that I might know who you were. Someone asked my client about you.”

“Are you sure they got the name right?”

“Yep.”

“Are you certain they were talking about me—maybe there is someone else out there with the same name.”

“Not unless you've got a twin brother with your name who is also a lawyer in Virginia.”

“So who…how did this come up?”

“I'm really not hot on saying a lot over the phone.”

Will thought a minute. “If I come up and visit with you there in New York, would you be willing to explain this to me?”

“I've already got a waiver from my client to discuss his case. He wants to get to the bottom of this, like I do. Frankly, I got him an unbelievably sweet deal considering how things could have come down. But he still insists that someone set him up and he wants me to get him some answers if I can.”

“Will you talk to me?”

“Yeah. I will. But you have to come up here. Give me your fax number and I will fax the location where I want to meet you. How about tomorrow?”

“Fine,” Will replied, “I'll probably take the train up.”

Will gave him his fax number and they hung up. Will racked his brain for some explanation as to why his name would have surfaced during the interrogation of Rahji Ajadi, but could come up with nothing.

But there had to be a reason why his name had been mentioned in that investigation up in New York. Facts have causes, he had always believed. Sometimes to find the causes it just took the right kind of digging.

The phone rang again and it was Tiny Heftland. Tiny explained that he had finished his investigation of every scholar and researcher who ever wrote an article critical of Albert Reichstad. None of them had any hard information disproving Reichstad's conclusions about 7QA. And none of them, except one, wanted anything to do with being an expert witness for Angus MacCameron and against Albert Reichstad.

“Who's the one who might be an expert witness for us?” Will asked.

“Her name is Mary Margaret Giovanni,” Heftland said. “American-born, but raised abroad. Former nun. Was a consultant in ancient Semitic languages and biblical antiquities at the Vatican. Has written and lectured on the subject of…” With that, Tiny had to look at his notes to remind himself of the word.

“…written and lectured on the subject of first century
papyrology
.”

“That's the study of papyrus writings,” Will noted.

“Bingo.”

“Is she going to help us?”

“Don't know. She said she wants to think about it. When I mentioned MacCameron's name she said she wanted to check out our guy first before she was willing to sign on as an expert witness on his side.”

“When will she let us know?”

“Couple of weeks.”

“That's too long,” Will said. “Our trial date is only about four months away. Our deadline for naming experts is in three weeks.”

“I'll have her call you,” Tiny responded. “Hey, did you see Reichstad's research center up in Maryland?”

“Yeah. Nothing particular. No fences. No security. Just a plain office building.”

“That's my point,” Tiny explained. “That's why I wanted you to see it yourself. Remember, I did security work for the State Department in my bygone days when I worked with their security forces in the Middle East. So, I crawled around on that property with Walter Ugett—the electronics whiz kid I work with sometimes. What we discovered is that this research center has very sophisticated remote sensors set up on the grounds. I mean, like the kind you find on the White House lawn to prevent crazy guys and terrorists from getting onto the property. That kind of sophisticated security. It beats me why a bunch of ivory-tower experts in ancient history would need that kind of world-class security.”

“Have Giovanni call me,” Will said, trying to cut short his conversation, since he heard the fax machine ringing in the other room. But then he thought of one more question.

“By the way,” Will asked, “do you have any kind of dope on the MIRV missile incident—anything turned up for you?”

“Only what I read in the papers or get from the TV,” Tiny responded.

“Do you have any thoughts on it?”

“In my professional opinion,” Tiny said with a measured sense of importance, “that whole deal stinks more than my garage when I forget to put out
my garbage bags for pick-up. You know, when it's summer, and it's really hot, and things really get cooking up?”

“I think I get the picture,” Will added.

“That operation was just not right. Something's really weird about that deal.”

After hanging up with Tiny, Will walked to the copy room. On the fax machine was a note from the public defender in New York. It read simply,

Meet me tomorrow at noon on the steps of the

New York Public Library. Please come alone.

Will picked up the fax. He was starting to get the feeling that there just might be a healthy side to paranoia. As much as he did not want to admit it, he was starting to wonder whether there was more to
Reichstad vs. MacCameron
than just one more lawsuit—even an unusual lawsuit at that. Rather than leave the fax in his office he folded it and stuck it in his pocket.

After trying to return Jack Hornby's call and only getting his voice mail, Will left a message for him. Then he called Jacki Johnson at the D.C. office of Bates, Burke & Meadows. Jacki was on her way to court so she couldn't talk long, but she was warm and asked how Will was doing.

“Betty quit today,” Will explained.

“Sorry to hear that,” Jacki said. “What are you going to do about office help?”

“I thought you might know someone.”

“Let me think about it,” Jacki said. “Say, what did you ever do about that lawsuit that came in—you know, the one with the old professor or whatever he was. J-Fox Sherman was on the other side.”

“I took the case,” Will replied.

“So, it's Will Chambers versus the great and powerful OZ?” Jacki said with a laugh. “Well, you always liked those kinds of odds. Listen, I've got to run. I really have been thinking a lot about you. Howard says hello. We have to get together for lunch sometime. Please keep in touch.”

Will hung up the phone. It felt good to touch base with Jacki. He could have used her help on the MacCameron case. But that was not going to happen now. Will was facing the fact that this case would have to be a solo flight.

32

W
ILL RESERVED A TICKET FOR THE FOLLOWING
morning on the early train to New York City, and then sat down to review the transcript of the MacCameron deposition that the court reporter had dropped off. He knew that analyzing the precise wording of Sherman's questions and MacCameron's answers would be essential.

One of Will's first conclusions was that MacCameron had not committed “perjury” at the deposition, as Sherman had suggested—not even close. Sherman's question had been whether the “reason” for MacCameron's leaving the University of Edinburgh was that the University was entertaining charges of misconduct against him. MacCameron had denied that the “reason” he had left that University was that they had been thinking about bringing plagiarism charges against him.

After the deposition, Will had asked MacCameron about the incident at the University of Edinburgh.

MacCameron admitted that at first the University officials had thought he had plagiarized the rough draft of a paper of another graduate student. MacCameron had denied it when they interviewed him about the incident. While the matter was pending, he had decided to follow his heart and go to America to join his future wife, Helen. It was only after he had arrived in the United States and enrolled in the college in West Virginia that the University of Edinburgh officials learned the truth: It had actually been the other graduate student who had tried to use the ideas he found in one of MacCameron's papers as his own. MacCameron invited Will to contact the University administration in Edinburgh to verify that fact.

But Will had been genuinely concerned about MacCameron's physical demeanor during the deposition. When Will mentioned that, his client then confessed that he had a history of heart problems and was prone to fatigue. He apologized for not being “on the mark” during the deposition.

In further review of the transcript, Will saw very clearly that Sherman and Reichstad wanted to put MacCameron on trial. They would try to match the Scot's modest educational qualifications against the world-renowned Reichstad's credentials. But this case, Will concluded, could not be about Reverend Angus MacCameron. It was bigger than the personal problems, or professional accomplishments, of either of the parties.

Will thought back to one of the sound bites that he had given to Jack Hornby. Will had commented,

If my client was correct in what he wrote, and it is our contention that he was—then truth itself is on trial.

What Will now realized was that his description of the case to Hornby was more accurate than he could have imagined.

Sherman and Reichstad would want to make it a trial of the smallest and most precise details. Sherman would try to force the case into a small and tortured box of carefully controlled facts.

Yet Will knew that, while he would have to answer all of the minute factual details raised by Sherman in order to prevail, he would have to go one step farther. Will Chambers would have to paint the big picture on the big canvas. “Truth itself is on trial.” But the truth about what? Or who?

Will was beginning to understand. This case was really about the very question raised by Reichstad's sensational revelation of the 7QA fragment. It was the question that Will had not wanted to face, perhaps for reasons more personal and more profound than he had ever thought. But it was the question that he now had to answer for himself and ultimately prove to a jury and a federal judge: Did the remains of the body of Jesus of Nazareth still lie in a tomb somewhere in Jerusalem as the 7QA fragment seemed to indicate? Or did Jesus walk out of his own grave—thereby making Reichstad's interpretation of 7QA false, or at the very least, grossly inaccurate?

What if, Will now reasoned with himself, a world-class historian informed the whole world that he had discovered a single small fragment of a historical document from the late 1700s that proved that George Washington was not the leader of the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War? How would such a report be treated? Clearly, he concluded, it might cause experts to call such a person either a liar—or at least an incompetent historian.

But would that situation be any different from the 7QA dispute? The difference probably rested, Will thought to himself, in the degree of certainty we have about the facts surrounding George Washington's life. We
are all pretty certain about George Washington. We are less certain about what happened in ancient Israel two thousand years ago.

But what if, after objectively viewing the evidence, there was only one reasonable conclusion about Jesus? What if the credible facts all pointed to his actual resurrection? Could that ever be proven in a court of law? Was this the ultimate defense of truth that Will would have to produce in trial? Will wondered how he could ever hope to be able to prove something of such monumental significance—something that had been debated by historians, theologians, and philosophers for two thousand years.

As Will was packing up for the day, the phone rang. When he picked it up there came over the line a voice that he had not heard in years—a deep, booming southern drawl.

“Will Chambers—how are you, my friend?”

“Is this brother Billy Joe Highlighter?”

“Yes, my friend, it certainly is. Will, how are you?”