“A lot,” Stephanie said.

“And there are no current theories?”

“None that have stood up to further testing. Of course, there is still the vague idea of some kind of flash of strange radiation… ” Stephanie let her voice trail off as if to leave the idea hanging in the air.

“Wait a second!” Daniel said. “You’re not about to spring some divine or supernatural nonsense on me, are you?”

Stephanie spread her hands palms-up, shrugged, and smiled all at the same time.

“Now I have the feeling you are toying with me,” Daniel remarked with a chuckle.

“I’m giving you an opportunity to come up with a theory.”

“Me?” Daniel questioned.

Stephanie nodded.

“I couldn’t come up with a hypothesis without having actual access to all the data. I assume the examining scientists have used things like electron microscopy, spectroscopy, ultraviolet fluorescence, as well as appropriate chemical analysis.”

“All of the above and more,” Stephanie said. She sat back, with a provocative smile. “And still, there is no accepted theory about how the image was produced. It’s a conundrum for sure. But come on! Be a sport! Can’t you think of something with the details I’ve related?”

“You’re the one who’s done the reading,” Daniel said. “I think you should come up with the suggestion.”

“I have,” Stephanie said.

“I’m wondering if I dare ask what it is.”

“I find myself leaning in the direction of the divine. Here’s my reasoning: If the shroud is the burial cloth of Jesus Christ, and if Jesus was resurrected, meaning he went from the material to the nonmaterial, presumably in an instant, then the shroud would have been subjected to the energy of dematerialization. It was the flash of energy that created the image.”

“What the hell is the energy of dematerialization?” Daniel asked with exasperation.

“I’m not sure,” Stephanie admitted with a smile. “But it stands there would be a release of energy with a dematerialization. Look at the energy released with rapid elemental decay. That creates an atom bomb.”

“I suppose I don’t have to remind you that you’re employing very unscientific reasoning. You’re using the shroud’s image to posit dematerialization so you can use dematerialization to explain the shroud.”

“It’s unscientific, but it makes sense to me,” Stephanie said with a laugh. “It also makes sense to Ian Wilson, who described the shroud’s image as a snapshot of the Resurrection.”

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve certainly convinced me to take a peek at the book you have.”

“Not until I’m done!” Stephanie joked.

“What has this information about the shroud done to your reaction about using its bloodstains to treat Butler?”

“I’ve come around one hundred and eighty degrees,” Stephanie admitted. “At this point, I’m all for it. I mean, why not enlist the potentially divine for all our sakes? And, as you said down in Washington, using the shroud’s blood will add some challenge and excitement while creating the ultimate placebo.”

Daniel lifted his hand, and he and Stephanie high-fived across the table.

“What about dessert?” Daniel questioned.

“Not for me. But if you have some, I’ll have a decaf espresso.”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t want dessert. Let’s get home. I want to see if there are any emails from the venture capital people.” Daniel motioned for the waiter to get the check.

“And I want to see if there are any messages from Butler. The other thing I learned about the shroud is that we’re definitely going to need his help to get a sample. On our own, it would be impossible. The church has it sealed up under elaborate security within a space-age box in an atmosphere of argon. They also categorically stated there would be no more testing. After the carbon-dating fiasco, they are understandably gun-shy.”

“Has there been any analysis of the blood?”

“Indeed there has,” Stephanie said. “It was tested to be type AB, which was a lot more common in the ancient Near East than it is generally now.”

“Any DNA work?”

“That too,” Stephanie said. “Several specific gene fragments were isolated, including a beta globulin from chromosome eleven and even an amelogenin Y from chromosome Y.”

“Well, there you go,” Daniel said. “If we can get a sample, it will be a piece of cake pulling out the segments we need with our HTSR probes.”

“Things better start happening quickly,” Stephanie warned. “Otherwise, we’re not going to have the cells in time for Butler’s Senate recess.”

“I’m well aware,” Daniel said. He took his credit card back from the waiter and signed the receipt. “If the shroud is going to be involved, we’ve got to go to Turin in the next few days. So Butler better get cracking! Once we have the sample, we can fly directly to Nassau from London on British Airways. I checked that out earlier this evening.”

“We’re not going to do the cellular work here at our lab?”

“Unfortunately, no. The eggs are down there, not up here, and I don’t want to take the risk of shipping them, and I want them fresh. Hopefully, the Wingate lab is as well equipped as they claim, because we’ll be doing everything there.”

“That means we’ll be leaving in a few days and be gone a month or more.”

“You got it. Is that a problem?”

“I suppose not,” Stephanie said. “It’s not a bad time to spend a month in Nassau. Peter can keep things going in the lab. But I’ll have to go home tomorrow or Sunday to see my mom. She’s been under the weather, as you know.”

“You’d better do it sooner rather than later,” Daniel said. “If word comes through from Butler about the shroud sample, we’re out of here.”

2:45 P.M., Saturday, February 23, 2002

Daniel sensed he was getting a vague idea of what it was like to have manic-depressive disorder as he hung up the phone from yet another disappointing conversation with the venture capital people in San Francisco. Just prior to the call, he felt on top of the world after outlining the schedule for the next month on a legal pad. With Stephanie now enthusiastically behind the plan to treat Butler, including using blood from the shroud, things were beginning to fall into place. That morning, between the two of them, they had drawn up an encompassing release for Butler’s signature and had emailed it to the senator. As per their instructions, it was to be signed, witnessed by Carol Manning, and faxed back.

When Stephanie had disappeared back into the lab to check on Butler’s fibroblast culture, Daniel had convinced himself that things were going so smoothly that it was reasonable to call the moneymen in hopes of changing their minds about releasing the second round of financing. But the call had not gone well. The key person had ended the conversation by telling Daniel not to call back unless he had proof in writing that HTSR would not be banned. The banker had explained that in light of recent events, word of mouth, particularly in the form of vague generalities, would not be adequate. The banker had added that unless such documentation was forthcoming in the near future, the money allocated for CURE would be transferred to another promising biotech firm whose intellectual property was not in political jeopardy.

Daniel sagged in his chair with his hips perched precariously on the edge, resting his head on the chair’s back. The idea of returning to stable-but-impecunious academia, with its snail’s-pace predictability, was sounding progressively appealing. He was beginning to loathe the precipitous ups and downs of trying to achieve the moneyed celebrity status he deserved. It was galling that movie stars only had to memorize a few lines and famous athletes only had to show mindless dexterity with a stick or a ball in order to command the lucre and attention showered on them. With his credentials and a brilliant discovery to his credit, it was ludicrous that he had to bear such travail and associated anxiety.