“May I ask the nature of your business?”
Paul answered. “As I said on the phone, we’d like to make a substantial donation to the Church.”
“Well, that’s very admirable, but you don’t need to see the bishop to make a donation.”
Disliking his officious manner, Ava said, “It’s a donation of property, not money.”
“Is that so? What type of property?”
“Unique historical artifacts,” she said.
His eyes widened.
“Valuable?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Yes.”
“How valuable?”
Ava smiled. Now she had his undivided attention. “The exact figure may be difficult to determine. No objects like these have ever been auctioned. Lesser artifacts of similar age were projected to fetch at least two million dollars, until they were determined to be inauthentic.”
“And you believe yours are authentic?”
Ava and Paul exchanged a glance. She replied, “We think so, but we can’t be positive. It would be the owner’s duty to establish authenticity.”
Zeke drummed his fingers on the desk, then asked, “What do you expect in return?”
“Certain guarantees,” said Ava.
“Such as?”
“Should the items prove genuine, the Church must promise to display them to the public in an appropriate forum and make them available for study by the legitimate academic community. If the Church opts to sell the artifacts, which I doubt, it would convey them subject to identical terms.”
“And what else?”
Ava looked at him. “Pardon me?”
“What else do you want?”
“Nothing else.”
“No reward? No credit for the discovery?”
Ava was annoyed. Her look said, “What part of ‘Nothing else’ is confusing?”
Hoping to avert an argument, Paul jumped in. “We don’t seek any reward or compensation. We’d remain anonymous.”
The man was skeptical. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would you do that? Why not sell the items to a museum or a university?”
Ava was fuming. “Look, we’re not here to answer your questions. We have our reasons and you have our offer. Tell your boss to take it or leave it, that is, if he can find time in his busy schedule to consider our proposal.”
Ava stood, took Paul’s hand, and led him out of the office.
Zeke jumped up from the desk and followed them into the hall. “Wait! Come back! Where are you staying? How can I reach you?”
Ava neither paused nor looked back.
On their way out of the building Paul detoured to the receptionist’s desk. He dug the Two Gods business card out of his wallet and handed it to her, saying, “We can be reached at this number. Ask for Paul.”
A moment later, the bishop’s assistant walked up and snatched the card from the receptionist’s hand. Ignoring her glare, he watched the Americans depart. Once he was sure they were gone, he returned to the office. He closed the door, unlocked his private cell phone, and punched in some numbers.
They arrived at the Two Gods just after noon. A jazz record played quietly on the jukebox: Sarah Vaughan singing “Lover Man.” While Paul spoke to O’Hagan, Ava found an empty booth. Paul brought over a plate of deep-fried lampuki, some anchovy-filled pastizzi (puff pastry), and two frothy mugs of Stella Artois. Being careful not to spill anything, he eased their lunch onto the carved wooden table. The look on Ava’s face revealed that she was still angry. Paul sat, sipped his beer, and waited. After a moment, she asked, “Has anyone called?”
“No. Looks like we have some time to kill.”
A few seconds passed. Then Ava exploded: “This is unbelievable! Do they think it’s a joke? We offer the Church a unique archaeological find, easily worth millions, and the bishop won’t even meet us? It’s unacceptable!”
“He probably does think it’s a joke. Or maybe he thinks it’s a scam.”
“But we didn’t ask for money!”
Paul took a drink from his mug and set it on the table. “What’s the matter?”
Ava reddened. “Are you kidding? I’m upset because the bishop won’t see us! We’re in mortal danger, and he’s off doing God knows what. I can’t believe he’d be so inconsiderate.”
“I’m sure he has a lot on his mind. Did you hear that Pope Benedict accelerated the conclave? We could have a new pope by St. Patrick’s Day.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “So what? The Catholic bureaucracy is hopelessly out of touch. The cardinals will just elect another stuffy European. The Church will never change!”
She was on the brink of tears. Paul reached across the table and took her trembling hand. Then, looking her in the eyes, he asked: “What’s really bothering you?”
She opened her mouth to argue, then paused. He was right. “Okay, I am upset about the bishop and the Church, but I’m really angry with myself. Given the chance to crack one of the world’s great mysteries, I struck out. Where’s the lost prophecy? Why can’t I solve the riddle?”
“Maybe there wasn’t a mystery to solve,” Paul said. “I’m not convinced that a hidden message exists. Would Jesus really make up a prophecy? That sounds more like something you’d get from a bogus psychic or a fortune-teller than from the Bible.”
“Are you kidding? A prophecy is something uttered by a prophet. Paul, the Bible is chock-full of prophets and prophecies. Tons of folks get zapped by the Holy Spirit and start predicting the future — often in verse. Read Luke 1:67, Deuteronomy 18:18, or Acts 3:22, ‘For Moses said, “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you must listen to everything he tells you.”’ In John 13:38, Jesus himself prophesied that Peter would deny him three times before the cock crowed.”
Paul waved his white napkin in surrender. “Okay, okay, I concede. You don’t need to quote chapter and verse.”
She blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just really frustrated.”
He waited, giving her a chance to explain.
Ava lowered her eyes and sipped from her mug. “I’ve been dissatisfied for a long time, okay? I’ve just been too proud — or maybe too scared — to face it. The honest-to-God truth is that I’m dreading graduation. I’ve worked like a dog to finish my doctorate, but why? I don’t want a life built around researching and debating linguistics. I’ll become another Professor von Igelfeld, hermetically sealed in an academic cloister. The moment I saw the jars, I sensed this was my path, my destiny. We can’t keep them, obviously, but when we surrender those artifacts, our journey ends. I’ll resume my mundane existence: books, lectures, maybe the occasional pub quiz, but no adventure.”
He shook his head. “No disrespect to Professor von Igelfeld, but you can do anything you want. Ava, each day offers a new adventure. With your abilities and talents you can go anywhere. What do you want to see tomorrow? Yonaguni? The Mountains of the Moon? There are no limits but those we accept. Sure, it can be risky, and sometimes it hurts, but that’s real life: a thrilling spin of the wheel.”
Ava smiled. She felt much better after hearing what Paul said. She made eye contact. He held a fist to his cheek, with his thumb to his ear and his pinky pointing to his lips: the universal sign for telephone.
Paul walked to the bar and took the receiver. “Hello?”
A gravelly voice said, “This is Bishop Garagallo. Is this Paul?”
“Yes, Excellency. Thank you for calling. Did you get our message?”
“I did. May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Are you the Americans who encountered some difficulty in Alexandria?”
Paul took a deep breath. “We are, but the newspaper accounts of our activities are dead wrong.”