CHAPTER XVII

The Sacred and the Profane

Winter night was falling fast as the snowmobiles approached Acheiropoieta. What was once a simple, ascetic house of work and prayer had become a fortress of cunning and deception, the ideal home for Ernst Stavro Blofeld.

As the rounded up would-be invaders were taken through a small underground loading dock, each wondered to himself what would become of his fate. They all hoped the sea contingent had also not yet been discovered.

SPECTRE agents, included a gloating Muldoon, smothered the captives ensuring none of them would attempt any escape histrionics. As they were led from the loading dock up a series of stone steps, the detainees could hear the barking of orders and brief conversations in various dialogues coming from above.

Upon reaching the top of the circular staircase, the prisoners passed a diverse group of SPECTRE orderlies quickly trotting down the dark hallway, illuminated by torches, their shoes clomping on the ancient stone, each wearing white medical-like lab coats. They seemed in a hurry, and not a bit petrified.

Finally, Muldoon and company led the Hardys, Bond, Chet, Felix and Kaspar into the monastery's chapel, a fine piece of Gothic architecture on a smaller scale. Despite the gravity of their situation, the group managed to gaze up in admiration at the 10th century beauty, replete with ribbed vaulting and buttresses.

Yet in the nave the pews once designed for worshipping monks had been removed. Before them instead was a hive of scientific activity. The lab coat orderlies were scattered about, concentrating their attention on numerous machinery placed in the transepts. There was beeping, the whirring of appliance fans, low dialogue in foreign tongues, and the general air of preparation for something important.

At the area that was once designed for the high altar, a sarcophagus was placed, with tubing and wiring plugged into it. That cabling led to various machines.

Finally, the foreboding voice of Blofeld boomed from somewhere in the sanctuary, the natural acoustics of the structure easily carrying his voice to the far corners of the old chapel. As he spoke, technicians and a dozen robe-clad monk-looking individuals formed a semi-circle around the sarcophagus.

"Like the Templars of old," Blofeld began, "betrayed and burned at the stake because of it, so too has SPECTRE been betrayed by those who claim purity of heart. For 25 years I have sought the Holy Shroud the monks of St. Patricia concealed in plain sight. But no matter. In those 25 years SPECTRE has enjoyed unparalleled success here in this monastery 'not made by human hand,' as if my pact with the devil has proven as fruitful as the day the deal was made."

Frank and Joe and the others had been vainly attempting to squirm or find some loophole with their cuffs. But they were surrounded, and knew they could only wait for the next part of Blofeld's scheme. Chet glanced up at Bond, who stared ahead, unamused.

Blofeld's voice was rising, his energy gaining. "Are you familiar with Holy Fire?" Blofeld continued rhetorically. "The miracle of fire in the Jerusalem tomb each Easter? Light suddenly bursts forth from the tomb without explanation. Soon, torches and candles are ablaze because of this original, unknown flame." He paused. Nobody, including the technicians and occultists, moved.

"It's another mystery that points to the Holy Shroud. You who have spent such a short time investigating it, have you even asked yourself what it is a relic of? Of a dead man? Nay, I tell you it is not a relic of death, but of life. Resurrected life."

Alduous Huxley Drollinger emerged from the chapel ambulatory and with a lab coat over his black turtleneck, approached the sarcophagus with a few minions. Bond grimaced, muttering through clenched teeth, "Drollinger."

"You'll of course recognize A.H. Drollinger, the scion of California's Silicon Valley," Blofeld explained. "Beyond his work as an engineer and technologist, he was a geneticist for a time. But probably more than anything else he considers himself," Blofeld paused dramatically. "I think it's time we can tell them, yes?" he asked from his unknown location, prompting a slight smile from Drollinger who was intently inspecting the tubing of the sarcophagus. "More than anything he considers himself a transhumanist. Or is it 'radical life extensionist'?"

Frank and Joe tried to exchange glances, but nudges from the guards limited their movement.

"As do I, as do I," Blofeld added hastily. "And so during all this time of you busying yourself thinking SPECTRE was after the Shroud as if we were mere Nazis, as if we were interested in the black market, we have been laboring on this island before your very eyes building the future. Building new life," he paused again, "eternal life!"

"They're not interested in the Shroud itself," Frank said under his breath. "But in what it means!"

"Light. Photismos. Illumination," Blofeld was saying.

"They're trying to resurrect themselves!" Joe uttered.

"Have you finally caught on?" Blofeld chuckling. "We hear your clacking. Now, Dr. Drollinger, tell me, to reproduce the 'intense burst of light' we hear so much about, that purportedly caused the image imprint in the first place, how many lasers do we need?"

"Lasers?" Bond gulped, recalling his precarious encounter with a single laser under the watch of Auric Goldfinger a couple years earlier.

Drollinger again grinned briefly. "14,000 lasers," he said.

"14,000!" Blofed replied in faux astonishment.

Now all the captives gulped.

"And how many watts, roughly, are needed to get as close to what supposedly happened that embedded the image of the man on the Shroud?"

"About several billion."

"And in how much time?"

"Less than a second. About 1/40 billionth to be exact."

"As you can see, we've rehearsed this before," Blofeld reveled. "But now the time has come to finally pull the lever on the vacuum ultraviolet radiation experiment via 14,000 lasers operating at billions of watts in less than a second."

Bond burst out laughing. "James!" Chet whispered. "Stop!"

"Is there a problem, Mr. Bond?" Blofeld sneered. Drollinger and the others glared at Bond. Only the flickering torches from around the chapel-turned-laboratory could be heard.

"I've encountered madness before, Blofeld, but this absolutely defines it," Bond said flatly.

"Keep it up, Mr. Bond, and you'll be our first test subject," Blofeld sneered. He then paused, as if trying to calm his irritation. Bond's outburst at least momentarily rattled Blofeld's roll. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me why this is madness?"

"Careful, James," Leiter warned softly.

"A scientifically resurrected body is quite ingenious, Blofeld," Bond admitted. "I'm not sure what you'd be able to accomplish aside from walking through walls."

"I'll answer this," spoke up Alduous Huxley Drollinger. "Whether or not light from some unknown source imprinted the Shroud is ultimately of no concern to us," Drollinger explained, slowly walking towards the captives. "For all we care it could have been a medieval forger who actually conducted this artistic experiment with a cadaver. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Shroud does suggest life without death is possible. And in this world, there's no Great Seal to limit yourself to immortality," he snickered, referencing the Holy Grail's final resting place in the temple within the canyon of the Crescent Moon.

"Sounds like you're up on your National Geographic, Drollinger," Joe taunted.

"Speaking of Dr. Jones," Frank said evenly. "Has he been a victim of this 'artistic experiment'?"

"Not yet," Drollinger answered, "but I'm glad you asked. We can thank you for wanting to get this started." The scientist turned to his minions. "Bring him out!"

From out of the side transept of the former chapel, orderlies wheeled out a gurney on which was strapped Dr. Henry Jones, Jr.!