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Embedded
A Novel
Marc Knutson
Embedded
A Novel
Copyright © 2011 Marc Knutson. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
ISBN 13: 978-1-60899-518-9
EISBN 13: 978-1-4982-7250-6
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version®, KJV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.
“And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen.”
—John 21:25 [KJV]
. . . This is one of those books!
From the time I began this treatise I have enjoyed the support of a number of friends and family. I have felt the hand of God on my shoulder as he guided me.
Frankly, there isn’t enough room here to list a roll call of these special people. But, in my heart the list exists and I know every one of you.
It is from my heart that I thank you for your patience and your encouragement.
Preface
Jerusalem A.D. 32
The sun had long since stopped beating down on Jerusalem and had quietly slipped into the Mediterranean Sea for the night. The waxing gibbous moon had taken its place high overhead and was splashing light on a city that was preparing for an evening’s rest. Moonlight backlit the wisps of smoke wafting from blackened chimneys’.
The sounds of the evening filled the rapidly cooling air. Dogs barked conversations to each other into the starry canopy; crickets cricketed to unseen mates and bracketed the voices of mothers softly encouraging their children to go to sleep. It was an evening in Jerusalem like a thousand others before.
However, on one street, two protracted shadows moved furtively, hugging the walls of houses and alleyways, their shadows only betraying their whereabouts as they darted from one side of the street to the other. Their hooded heads purposely masked their facial features, and thus, their identities.
The shadowy figures stopped occasionally, but only long enough to see if they were being followed. Wandering almost as if they were clueless of where they were going, one of them whispered, “How do we know which house it is?”
“We’re to look for a cluster of three lit candles, bundled together, and placed on a window sill with the drapes closed behind them,” the other replied in an equally low-level whisper.
Eventually, finding a house with three bound candles, they knocked on the door and were allowed entrance. They joined a group of about twenty in a room so dimly lit by candlelight that it was difficult to identify anyone. The murky darkness seemed to blend everyone together. It was evident though, that all were bearded men, in their mid-forties or older. They were seated on cushions arranged haphazardly along the walls, and all but one had lowered their head coverings. Finally, someone who appeared to be the leader of the group stood and began to speak. In a gruff, yet quiet tone, he welcomed the others, “All right, it looks like everyone is here.”
Another cluster of three bound candles, identical to the set in the window, glowed on a low table in the middle of the room. The candles were in such an array that each appeared to be on the right angle point of a triangle, but no two candles were of the same height. The tallest one took the middle position. The one on the right was shorter than the middle one, and the one on the left was the shortest of the three. It was a cluster of three candles, uneven in height, bound by a purple strip of cloth and illuminated.
“In case any of you are wondering,” said the host, “this is the first meeting. So none of you have missed a thing. We are all here for one united cause, and that is to put a stop to, and eliminate the threat of, Yeshua bar Joseph and the ridiculous movement that is swelling in ranks throughout Judea. He is quickly becoming a legend in his own time. The general public sees him as the Messiah, or ‘a’ Messiah. He must be stopped.” A chorus of “here, here” swept across the room. “Is there anyone present not in support of this cause? Is there anyone here who does not want to be a member of the Council of Caiaphas?” He looked around the dark room. No one spoke a word.
“Before I reveal any more details, you all must swear an oath, which is assumed by your remaining here. Otherwise, leave now. You also agree that we are not to speak of this action outside of this room, nor are we to mention the Council of Caiaphas to anyone from without the membership. Our future meeting spots will always be designated by a cluster of candles like these and will be illuminated in a window. If even one candle is not lighted, you should consider it neither clear nor safe to enter. I don’t care if even the breeze simply blew it out!” The men stirred a bit as they repositioned themselves on the cushions. The fact of being involved in a conspiracy to murder caused the anxiety level to rise.
“As Pharisees, Sadducees and Scribes, all honored members of the Sanhedrin, we must recognize that these three candles will be a symbol of our unity, and our cause, and will serve as reminders to us that we need to maintain the focus of our actions. Each candle represents a threat that this new ‘so-called’ Messiah is imposing on our Hebrew faith and traditions.”
Picking up the lighted trinity of candles from the center table, the speaker pointed to each candle as he continued, “The first candle represents the power he is taking from us. The second speaks to the privilege we’ll forfeit and the third will remind us of the prosperity that we will all relinquish if we allow him to succeed.”
With that, the leader reset the candle bundle on the table, took a step back and allowed the mesmerized men, quietly fixated on the candle cluster, to contemplate their newfound symbol of unity and purpose.
A voice coming from the darkness across the room interrupted the silence, “How are we going to accomplish this task, knowing that if any of us are caught or found complicit in a conspiracy to murder, it could be serious for all of us? If for no other reason than Roman statute alone.” He attempted to mask his quivering and nervous vocal chords with increased volume. He wasn’t very convincing.
“Again, I realize that as members of the Sanhedrin we are not to soil our hands as conspirators to the murder of Yeshua bar Joseph of Nazareth, so another man has stepped up to accept the challenge. He is someone who is not as constrained as we are. For his own reasons, which I haven’t bothered to ask why, nor do I really care, has purposed to stop Yeshua, or anyone else promoting the movement.” Pointing to the still hooded man seated in a dark corner of the room, he continued, “This is the man,” and at that juncture, the man removed his hood to reveal his face. As the hood slipped backward, it served to show more than just his face; it revealed the scowl that appeared to be permanently etched onto it. The man looked as if he had never enjoyed a nice day in his life. For whatever reason, the years of evil he must have experienced had etched resentment and bitterness, like caustic acid, into his jowls that left his visage apparently beyond any hope of repair.
Instantly a buzz went up throughout the room. All the members of the Council were reacting to the image that they were seeing and the cause they had