The Betrayal

The Betrayal *
By
Raman Jalota (* from Crucifiction)

   Cardinal Sarducchi was smiling, "Good work by you and your men archbishop. I want to ... how you say it ... yes ... I want to congratulate you and the Colonel on the fine job you have done."
   Archbishop Kennedy smiled, "Thank you, your holiness. You had helped us design the plan and it worked very well. We now need an artist who can copy Jacob Craden's writing on a copy of the plan ... I remember you had suggested that we contact you when we were ready. Do you know who we can use?"
   "Of course, there is a brother in a monastery in Wisconsin; Brother John. He is a great artist and has created wonderful pieces of paintings for us to use in the Vatican. He has such wonderful skill for writing too. He creates the most beautiful scrolls we have ever seen."
   "But will he be able to copy someone's handwriting?"
   "Oh! Without any problems. He learnt to paint by copying other paintings ... you can't tell the difference between the copy and the original. He is simply marvelous."
   "Which monastery is he in? Where in Wisconsin?"
   "I will have one of our men look it up and call you. Yes, you must use him. He is the best."

   .....

   The monastery was well secluded. The shiny limousine that stopped on the dirt drive seemed out of place. The air exuded by the car seemed to defile the purity of the monastery. The Abbot received the Archbishop in his private office.
   "I am so pleased, you chose to visit us. The message from the Vatican was very flattering. Brother John is our expert artist and calligrapher. We have sold his original paintings and reproductions of the masters all over the world. His writing is so beautiful. His calligraphy of the psalms from the bible that we sell in the local markets are most popular."
   "Abbot Samuel, I am truly impressed by all the great things I have heard about Brother John. Cardinal Sarducchi insisted that we use brother John as there is no other person as capable as him. And we do need the best for the task."
   "Oh! Absolutely. I have talked to him very briefly about your visit. The cardinal seemed to think that you could use his help in creating some very important documents. I am honored that his talents can be used in the service of the church. I will bring him shortly."
   "Could we have complete privacy? Just me and Brother John?"
   Archbishop Sam Kennedy sat across the desk from brother John, "We need your help. This is for the church and the possible future of our religion. You could ensure the future of Catholicism by creating these documents for us."
   Brother John was clad in his dark brown robe, loosely tied around his waist, the ends of the cord that tied the robe, hung down almost touching the floor. His gray hair and beard matched his peaceful gray eyes. He looked at the oversized sheets of paper with roughly drawn maps of Colorado Springs, Boulder, and Denver. "Your holiness I have no problem in recreating these maps, what I am uncomfortable with is the copying of the writing of this man, onto the maps. It appears sinister and not a worthy task for us or you." He pointed at a sample of Jacob Craden's hand writing that the archbishop had brought with him.
   "This is the most important work you will do in your life, Brother John. This man is guilty of the most horrible crimes. He has blown up churches and murdered three bishops ... and also perhaps the Archbishop John Andersen of Colorado. There is an extensive amount of evidence against him ... your help will secure the verdict in his trial."
   Brother John shifted uncomfortably. He stared at the maps and the papers. He didn't look up, "We have no news of the outside world. I prefer not to be told of outside events. Even the news of the violence outside our monastery poisons our tranquility. I wish you hadn't told me that." He stared at the floor for a long minute, "How soon would you like this done?"
   Archbishop Kennedy smiled in relief, "Take your time brother. I know you are the best artist and writer in the whole country. I want you to do the absolute best job on this. How long do you think it will take?"
   "I could have it done in a week or less."
   "That would be perfect. And do remember the special message on the map of Denver."
   "Yes your holiness." He stared at the floor of the abbot's office for a long time, almost disbelieving what had taken place.

   .....

   Helen Taggert's face was red with rage, "You promised to deliver the evidence governor. I have nothing. We confiscated boxes of papers and documents ... there is nothing in there. I don't doubt that the Vatican will help us convict him, but I need real evidence."
   Sam Shepard smiled at her, "Helen, I have never let you down, have I? I have just received copies of invoices and purchase orders from an explosives supplier in San Diego. These are the purchase orders from the Realism party and invoices for explosives shipped to their address. You will take these and discover them in the papers confiscated from the Realism offices. Understand?"
   "Yes Governor. That is good ... I would of course need much more."
   "There is more coming. The actual plans of the bombings with Jacob Craden's handwriting on them will be delivered to you within a week. The Archbishop of New York called me and assured me that the plans will be made available soon."
   Helen's face softened, "I never really doubted you. But there has been tremendous pressure and so far we have had no real evidence. This will make my job easier. You and I both know how badly we want to put him out of commission. This may seal his fate."
   "It's not just for us, Helen; it's for all the decent citizens of the state of Colorado. All of us want to preserve our life styles and will not accept any impediment in our worship of god almighty."

   .....

   Jacob looked relaxed in his prison garb. He wore the same blue tee-shirt and gray pants that all the prisoners wore. He met with the lawyers in the meeting room for the pre-trial discussions. Stan Simpson and Stacy Morgan laid it out for him.
   Stan began, "Jacob, things do not look very good. They have some very damaging evidence. They have purchase orders from the Realism party, and invoices for explosives bought from an explosives supplier in San Diego ... what do you know about these?" Stacy opened her briefcase and handed him the copies of the purchase orders and invoices.
   Jacob's eyes were wide with surprise, "They look very authentic, but who in the party will order explosives and what will they do with them? Could these not be fabricated to implicate the Realism party?"
   "That's very possible ... we found no bank transactions backing payments for these ... however that may not by itself disprove their authenticity." Stan reached for the copies of the plans and handed them to Jacob. He studied his face intently.
   "These are copies of maps that have all the targets from the night of January tenth marked. It has names of people in seven groups and their group leaders and dates and explosive placements ..."
   Jacob gasped, "What the hell?"
   "What is it?"
   "Someone has copied my handwriting on these plans, the bastards."
   Stan and Stacy looked at each other, "Is there anyway we can disprove these?"
   "It's a very good copy. Can they convict me with such fabricated evidence?"
   "We will try our best to throw doubts on the authenticity of these and other pieces of evidence, however if the jury buys that you designed the plan for the bombings, they can directly pin the murders on you."
   "Don't they need other evidence for conviction? Can they convict an innocent man for murder?"
   "Oh yes, there will be more evidence. But your own words and actions in the past will be used against you. Be prepared for the worst. And Jacob, the D.A. is not talking any deals, she is convinced she has an airtight open and shut case ... that's what bothers me the most."

   .....

   On the third day of the trial, Jacob was sworn in. He was very alert and even a little amused by the trap that was being sprung on him.
   "Mr. Craden, I will like you to examine exhibits 17A, B and C. Do you recognize these?"
   Jacob studied the exhibits, "These are maps of cities in Colorado with several areas marked."
   "Very well, these are the actual thirty-one targets that were bombed on the night of January tenth. Do you remember drawing these maps?"
   "I did not draw these maps."
   "Do you recognize your handwriting on these maps?"
   "I did not create these documents, but someone has copied my handwriting on these. It's a very good job, but it's not mine."
   "Please refer to exhibit 17C, do you recall those words on the upper right corner?"
   "Yes ... they are from a poem I wrote in college."
   "What was the name of the poem?"
   "Dead fish."
   "Dead fish? What does that mean?
   Stan was on his feet, "I object your honor, irrelevant and immaterial."
   Helen smiled calmly, "I am going to show the depth of the connection between what's written on the plan and Mr. Jacob Craden."
   Judge William Rhinehart was enjoying the proceedings, "Overruled, continue Miss Taggert."
   "Mr. Craden, please explain the meaning of the title "Dead Fish" to the court."
   "Fish is the symbol of Christianity, dead fish would symbolize the end of Christianity."
   A gasp went through the court, the jury shifted uneasily.
   "Would you read the lines on the plan for us?"
   He solemnly read the lines
        "Like a holy knife that's unsheathed,
        I am poised.
        Beware those who are not gods yet;
        I have crossed the threshold
        Before you could know it.
        And those who understand
        Let the temples be lit."
   "Did you write that poem?"
   "Yes I did."
   "Does "let the temples be lit" mean set the temples on fire?"
   "It could be taken to be one of the meanings, it could also mean; light the temples of your mind to begin the ultimate worship ... the worship of yourself."

   .....

   Brother John woke up with a sweat. What was I dreaming? He tried to remember the strange dream he just had ... a group of monks that were trying to help another monk find a man ... brother Sean ... yes brother Sean was trying to find someone desperately ... and he wanted to punish this man ... he was very angry at this man ... perhaps he wanted to kill him, for some unknown reason ... and brother John along with six or seven more had joined him "to help him in his search" ... all the way to Italy! ... he had just spotted someone's shadow dart away from the street and towards the house at the end of the street ... "There he is," brother John said loudly ... "He just went into that home ... yes, second from the end ... the one with the green door" ... the group hurried towards the home, like a mob of angry dogs running after a cornered rabbit.
   "Why am I dreaming this? Help me lord ... return my peace to me." he started praying. He dozed off momentarily and found himself face to face with the man they were chasing ... his face was chiseled like a Greek statue ... his intense brown eyes stared into his ... this man was guiltless and fearless ... he rubbed his eyes to avoid the intensity of the man's stare and woke up.
   Brother John knew this was a crisis of immense proportions. He left his room and went to the small chapel that was lit by two candles at this time of night. He started to pray.
   His mind kept wandering to the events of the last few weeks. I had agreed to forge documents to convict another human being. Am I allowed to judge others? I had come to the monastery to get rid of the mind set that judges others. I had come here to escape that outer world that eats you up like a cancer ... the rat race that catches you up and forces you to run in a maze ... How could I agree to do such a sinister thing. And yet, I had agreed to do this. I am too weak ... I was easily talked into doing this ... I have no strength. I am still as weak as I was the day I came here. Forgive me lord. Give me peace. Give me strength. He wept sobbing silently. Soon he was exhausted and asleep.

   .....

   Brother John awoke to the sound of prayer bells and sunlight. He got up from the hard wooden bench and hurried to his room.
   "You look tired brother John," said Sean as they ate their morning meal - left over bread, cheese, preserved fruit and warm milk.
    "I am being punished for being evil. I can't sleep without having terrible dreams. It's too much. I need help Brother Sean."
   "Perhaps we should take a walk and talk about what's bothering you. You know that talking to some one willing to listen to your troubled thoughts can start the healing process. Would you like to take a walk after we eat."
   "Yes, thanks Brother Sean."
   The two friends stepped out of the monastery and walked around and to the back. They had taken this walk many times, mostly each in his own thoughts, occasionally making a comment or two but mostly in silence. Today it was very different. They started walking on the well-traveled path through the vegetable farm that the monastery maintained.
   "Brother Sean, I am having strange dreams in which I am helping someone chase after a man ... in Italy ... I don't know why but I believe it must be because of something that I did recently."
   "That's strange, what happened ... what did you do?"
   "You remember when the archbishop from New York visited us last year?"
   "Of course, I do. I know he talked to you for a while. I assumed he gave you a special assignment for one of those huge paintings that you are always doing ... didn't he?"
   They walked silently for a while. Brother John stopped and faced Brother Sean, "I have to speak the truth. I accepted an assignment to create some papers ... maps. And I agreed to copy a man's handwriting on them."
   "What man? What for?"
   "I was told this man had murdered bishops and blown up churches ... This man was evil and ..."
   "Jacob Craden..."
   "I don't understand. Brother Sean, you know the man I am talking about?"
   "I heard about the verdict yesterday. As I was going around the farmers market selling the vegetables and buying flour and sugar, everyone was talking about this man that had been found guilty of murder in Colorado ..."
   "Oh god! No."
   "What's wrong Brother John? ... This man was guilty from what I heard ... they had proof in his own handwriting... oh! ... what the ..."
   "Forgive me lord. I didn't mean to ... I didn't ... I was ... he told me ... I was told that ... but I didn't want ... forgive me lord ..."
   Brother Sean stared at Brother John's face. It had turned white. He was shaking uncontrollably and muttering incoherently. He put his arm around him and gently brought him back to the monastery.

   .....

   When he gained control of his senses, it was dark. The half moon was barely shedding light outside the monastery. Brother John walked back to the vegetable garden and stopped by the barren cottonwood tree. He glanced at the thick branch just a few feet over the ground. He slowly removed the cord from around his robe and flung it easily over the branch and tied it. He made a crude noose around his neck tying several knots to tighten the end around his neck.
   Brother John said a long, silent prayer; he looked up at the moon and with a final determination bent his knees, putting almost all his weight on his neck. He held his breath for a while and then tried to breath slowly at first and then desperately ... The man behind the green door smiled, "Come in Brother John .... My home is your home ... come in ... come on in ... Welcome home."
The End    2823 words

Copyright © 2004 Raman Jalota. All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

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