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Austin Macauley Publishers - Stephen Phillips

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80 pages

English

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Q is the hypothetical written source for the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke. Q is short for the German quelle or 'source'. This ancient text supposedly contained the logia or quotations from Jesus. Archaeologists have been searching for this documentation in any form for centuries. Academic opinion is divided, but many a learned case has been made for an original text of Q even if no longer extant.A group of eminent, powerful men conceive a plan, a scam, a fraud, to establish that Q had been discovered. Their clever subterfuge allows a renowned academic to endorse, unequivocally, the contents of an original archaeological find that contained Q. The professor (allegedly) always remaining convinced of their content's authenticity.His naive acceptance of the scam was driven by a passion for his subject, his innate desire for recognition, the pre-eminence of his benefactors and an intelligent, attractive, manipulative female.Once the scam was universally accepted, it was essential that the four people co-opted by the devious scam group (crucial to a successful outcome) should be carefully eliminated, by all and every means, while avoiding any interference from law enforcement, as any exposure of the scam would compromise the instigators and cause global mayhem.Will they succeed in avoiding their death against the powerful clandestine forces determined to kill them?

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	29 novembre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528971126
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Q
By All and Every Means
Stephen Phillips
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Q About The Author Dedication Copyright Information© The Prologue The Proposal Part Two
About The Author
Stephen Phillips was born in Clevedon Somerset, UK, in 1944. He is married with two children and five grandchildren. He has written art criticism for Artspace, poetry, a few short stories, and several course programmes professionally, as a 3D art and design lecturer, and Art School head. He is a practising artist and educator and has travelled extensively throughout Europe and the UK in self-converted camper vans.
Dedication
To Mrs P.
Copyright Information©
Stephen Phillips (2019)
The right of Stephen Phillips to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528942386 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528971126 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ

This is a work of fiction with no political, religious or anti-Semitic intent, as I have no abiding interest in politics or religion or race whatsoever.
The Prologue
From Wikipedia: Q source: also, Q document or Q.
Q: is the hypothetical written source for the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke.
Q: is short for the German: Quelle or ‘source’ and is defined as the common material found in Matthew and Luke, but not in Mark. This ancient text supposedly contained the logia or quotations from Jesus. Archaeologists and theologians have been searching for this documentation in any form for centuries. Academic opinion is divided, but many a learned case has been made for the pre-existence of Q even if no longer extant.

Professor Lochlan Majewski was expecting a visitor, who had phoned the previous day to arrange an informal meeting concerning a project of international importance, in which, he said, Lochlan may have an essential role. He was not too excited as he was often asked to add his support to global concerns, but he had wondered what possible project an eminent Rabbi may proffer. The bell rang and he buzzed the external door open to let him into the communal hallway. Lochlan stood at the top of the stairs offering a welcome, to a tall middle-aged man, larger in the girth than he had expected. Resting on the second of the communal landings, he called up to his host.
“You may know me from the television Professor Lochlan: Rabbi Simon Cohen.” Lochlan walked down a staircase to meet him, and warmly clasped the Rabbi’s moist hand in greeting.
“Yes of course, but from the radio, maybe, but do come up and take a seat and I’ll perk the coffee, you said black, no sugar?”
“No, white usually. No sugar please and thank you for your time.”
“You’re most welcome, Rabbi. Do go up.”
Professor Lochlan’s apartment was a testament to his travels for academic research. Numerous face masks from all corners of the southern hemisphere stared down from the picture rail into the large main room, where every available surface, exhibited curios. More than a hundred, small carved hardwood figures, and a greater number of intriguing ceramics – some containing large plants – were crammed onto any horizontal space. Indian fabrics curtained the high windows offering a defuse sunlight that danced on several Afghani carpets interrupting the sweep of the wooden floor. Also, confusingly, there were numerous working clocks, – each telling a different time – and several shelved alcoves, fully booked, or packed with vinyl records and compact discs. All non-shelved wall space presented an eclectic taste in paintings and prints.
There were two oversized sofas, one was conventional, facing a small television, the other consisted of a double bed mattress, on a low platform, where a variety of large kelim cushions flopped invitingly. Rabbi Cohen was only too aware, though both sofas were undoubtedly comfortable, he would need a helping hand to return to the vertical. Deciding instead, to sit on one of the unrelated dining chairs, resting his elbows on the large polished table, clasping his hands together, greeting himself.
“My word,” he exclaimed, “what an extraordinary room, I guess many of the things on display have been procured from your travels.”
“Yes, many are from my research journeys, but not all. The clocks are from the local ‘flea market’ and show the actual time in the many countries where I have friends or business. I find it useful when I need to communicate internationally. Saves checking. The one over there is on New York time, and this one here is Auckland.”
“They are, no doubt, most interesting, Professor, but I must say, I just could not live with the clutter. I try to live a simple life with fewer possessions. One never can know when one may move on to one’s maker.”
“Yes, well that’s true, although it’s a philosophy not entirely shared by all religious leaders I believe. However, the clutter to which you refer drove Dianne, my last girlfriend, mad.”
“I must say I do sympathise; however, we may assume from your well-regarded published work, Professor, that such a cluttered room exhibits an ordered mind, and a minimalist interior a dissolute one, perhaps?”
“Ordered and logical; and therefore, not religious, as you possibly gathered from our conversation yesterday. I was most bemused by your phone call, but you must know, I practice no faith whatsoever.”
“Yes, yes, quite; I know, you were most emphatic, but as a Jew one still may not be impartial.”
“That’s as maybe; but do continue.”
“Well, before we can proceed, I really need your assurance that you will not divulge our conversation to anyone, anyone at all, not even to your partner.”
“No problem, as from yesterday, I don’t have a partner.”
Rabbi Cohen glanced around the large room remarking on several female items.
“Dianne is coming for her things at the weekend.”
“Oh dear, I am sorry, we could do this another time.”
“No, no, I’m good, no worries, I’ve been there before; and she was never long term. Fire away as I’m intrigued by your insistence on secrecy.”
“Quite; quite; yes, I’m sure you are. Okay. As you are probably aware, I have a visible or more accurately, respected, media profile and I’m representing a small collective of mixed faith brethren, who have asked me to discuss an academic project which could turn out to be somewhat important to you, for the rest of your life. You may well wince, Professor, a bit over the top, I know, but we have need of your considerable expertise and invaluable practical experience for a major, but nonetheless discreet project based on a recent archaeological discovery. The few people with the knowledge of the contents of these ancient objects are sworn to keep its secrets, to avoid adverse publicity. Do you see?”
“Not really, no, how come? And call me Lochlan, please.”
“Now this is an important new discovery. These ancient texts require verification, eventually, as they may possibly be contemporary with the apostles.”
“Really?” he queried. “Sounds interesting. Concurrent, you think? On stone, vellum, lead?”
“Tablets. Incised clay tiles. We can refer to them as tablets.”
“That’s great news Rabbi, but why phone me?”
“Well,” Rabbi Simon Cohen hesitated, as if remembering something. “We are very familiar with your restorative work on the Gaelic Book of Kells, and of course more recently, the Garima Gospels and your scholarly verification of their earlier date. I have also been reading your book on the Tapa bark paper prints and images from the South seas, and their conservation and relevance to ritual and belief. Polynesia and Fiji through to New Zealand, I believe. Fascinating stuff, mulberry bark paper.”
“And breadfruit parchment. Not exactly a bedtime read I suspect. I loved that period of research, for Auckland University, lovely islands, friendly spiritual peoples, they were so pleased that I took an interest.”
“Yes, I’m sure they were. Didn’t Auckland give you an honorary doctorate?”
“Aha, have you been reading my CV?”
“Well, yes. We have taken an interest in your background.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“No. No; not at all, Professor. The Brethren were also impressed by your command of languages and your literary competence. We always undertake a thorough evaluation of a candidate, because; if you undertake and complete this momentous project, there may be more than excellent remuneration. There could be further accolades, maybe, even a Knighthood in the offing. One just doesn’t know.”
Lochlan was speechless, he wasn’t naïve, he was conversing with one of the establishment (if measured by their potential influence) he knew, or at least, surmised, that ‘things’ were sometimes done this way, although he clearly understood, if Rabbi Cohen was serious, then this was big, very big, and potentially not without consequences. He felt like giggling; he was certainly troubled.
“What Project Rabbi? And we, who are we exactly? And please, it’s Lochlan.”
“I represent a few eminent Christian brethren who have the interests of our homeland and our people at heart, and they have confided in me, and I have agreed, on pain of death, you understand, to pursue their ideas to a conclusion.”
“On pain of death. On pain of death,” Lochlan exclaimed dismissively. “Now come off it. On pain of death. Really!” Rabbi Cohen grimaced. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to seem disrespectful, but, really.”
“You have to realise, Professor