"So how do you explain that?"
"You know how, or have been about to discover it. You went to France, you were at Lirey."
"How do you know that?"
'Ana, do you think there is anything you've done that we don't know about? Any of you? We know it all, everything. You're right-I am a descendant of the brother of Geoffroy de Charney, the last precept of the Temple in Normandy. Mine is a family that has given many of its sons to the order."
Ana was fascinated. Yves de Charny was making a sensational confession-one that might well die with them in their stone tomb. But whether or not she would ever publish it, at that moment she felt a surge of pride, knowing that she had managed to disentangle the mystery.
"Go on."
"No… No, I will not do that."
Ana felt a rush of power and utter certainty as she clasped the priest's hands, almost as though someone else was speaking to the Templar through her. "De Charny, you are about to stand before God. Do it with a clear conscience; confess your sins, bring the light to bear on the shadows you have lived behind, the mysteries that have cost so many lives."
"Confess? To whom?"
"To me. I can help you unburden your conscience and give sense to my own death. If you believe in God, He will be listening."
"God has no need to listen to know what is in the hearts of men. Do you believe in Him?"
"I'm not sure. I hope He exists."
Padre Yves said nothing. Then, grimacing, he wiped the pearls of sweat off his forehead and squeezed Ana's hand.
"Francois de Charney, spelled with an e at that time, as you've discovered, was a Templar knight who lived in the East for many years, since the time he was a young man. There is no need for me to tell you all the countless adventures of this ancestor of mine-just that a few days before the fall of Saint-Jean d'Acre in the Holy Land, the Grand Master of the Temple charged him with safeguarding the shroud, which was kept in the fortress along with the rest of the Templar treasures.
"My ancestor wrapped the shroud in a piece of cloth very similar to that of the shroud itself, and he returned with it to France as he had been ordered. To his amazement and the amazement of the master of the Marseilles Temple, when they unwrapped the original shroud, they found that the cloth it had been wrapped in also had the figure of Christ imprinted on it. Maybe there is a, shall we say, 'chemical' explanation for this, or we can believe that what happened was a miracle- whatever the case, from that moment on, there were two holy shrouds, with the true image of Christ on both of them."
"My God!" breathed Ana. "That explains-" "That explains that the scientists are right when they say that the cloth in the cathedral in Turin is from the thirteenth or fourteenth century-even if they can't understand the appearance of those pollen grains or blood residue-but it also means that those who believe that the shroud contains the true image of Christ are correct as well. The shroud is sacred; it contains residues, 'remains,' if you will, of Jesus' calvary and his image-that is what Christ looked like, Ana; that is His true image. And that is the miracle with which God honored the House of Charney, although later another branch of the family took our relic-history records this-and sold it to the House of Savoy. And now you know the secret of the Holy Shroud. Only a handful of the elect in the entire world know the truth. This is the explanation of the inexplicable, of the miracle, Ana, because it is a miracle."
"But you say there are two shrouds: the authentic one, which was bought from Emperor Balduino, and the other one-this one, I mean the one that's in the cathedral-which is something like a photographic negative of the authentic one. Where is that one? Tell me."
"Where is what?" The Templar's voice was growing weaker, much of his remaining strength expended in relating the remarkable story.
"The authentic shroud, the one the shroud in the cathedral is a copy of."
"No, it's authentic too."
"Yes, but where's the other one, the first?" cried Ana.
"Even I, a de Charny, do not know that. Jacques de Molay sent it off to be hidden. It is a secret known by only a very few. Only the Grand Master and the six masters know its location now."
"Could it be in McCall's castle in Scotland?"
"I don't know. I swear it."
"But you do know that McCall is the Grand Master, and that Umberto D'Alaqua, Paul Bolard, Armando de Quiroz, Geoffrey Mountbatten, Cardinal Visier-"
'Ana, quiet, please… the pain is terrible… I'm dying.".
But she wouldn't-couldn't-stop. "They're the masters of the Temple, aren't they, Yves? Which is why they never marry or engage in any of the other activities of men with as much money and power as they have. They stay out of the spotlight, avoid publicity. Elisabeth was right."
"Lady McKenny is a very intelligent woman, like you, like Dottoressa Galloni."
"You people are a sect! A dangerous, deadly sect."
"No, Ana, no. Strong measures are taken, yes… but only when absolutely necessary. Measures that we-I-sometimes question. But you should know the good of it too. The Temple survived because the accusations made against it were false. Philippe of France and Pope Clement knew that but they wanted our treasure for themselves. And along with the gold, the king wanted to own the shroud. He thought that if he could get it, he would become the most powerful sovereign in Europe. I swear to you, Ana, that down through the centuries, we Templars have been on the side of good. We have played a role in many fundamental events- the French Revolution, Napoleon's empire, Greece's independence, and the French resistance during the Second World War. We have helped move democratic processes forward around the world-"
Ana shook her head. "The Temple lives in the shadows, and there is no democracy in the shadows. Its leaders are extremely wealthy men, and no man gets wealthy without paying a moral price."
"They are wealthy, but theirs is a fortune that does not belong to them-it belongs to the Temple. They administer it, manage it, although it's also true that their own gifts have made them wealthy in their own right-but when they die, everything they own goes to the order."
"To the order?"
"To a foundation… at the heart of the Temple's finances, of everything we are and do. We are everywhere… we are everywhere," Padre Yves repeated, his voice now little more than a whisper.
"Even in the Vatican."
"May God forgive me."
Those were the last words that Yves de Charny spoke. Ana cried out in terror when she realized he was dead, his eyes staring sightlessly into infinity. She closed them with the palm of her hand and began to sob, asking herself how long it would take her to die as well. Maybe days, and the worst thing would be not dying but knowing that she was buried alive. She brought the telephone to her lips.
"Sofia? Sofia, help me!"
The telephone was dead. There was no one there.
'Ana, Ana! Hang on! We'll get you out!"
The connection had been broken just seconds earlier. The battery had probably run out on Ana's phone. Sofia had heard the shoot-out in the tunnel over the walkie-talkies, then Marco and the carabinieri shouting that the tunnel was going to come down. She hadn't hesitated a second-she ran for the street. But she hadn't reached the downstairs door when her cell phone began to ring; she thought it was Marco. She froze when she heard the voices of Ana Jimenez and Padre Yves. With the telephone held tight to her ear so as not to miss a word, she stood stock-still, hardly aware of the men rushing past her, racing to save the others trapped in the tunnel.