“And did she say when this was going to happen?”
Fielding nodded. “She said she’d be a mother by the time she turned 26. That would be what, nine months from now?”
Apostolic Palace
Lang went to his desk and sat down. He slid open a drawer. “Slowly,” Carver said as he took up a position behind him. The intelligence chief was old, but he was as unpredictable and dangerous a creature as Carver had ever met.
“Your assumptions about my personal beliefs are misguided,” Lang said. He removed an electric cigarette from the desk, switched it on, and took a slow drag. Then he reached into the drawer for a second time, producing a transparent rectangular document display box. He set it on the desktop and gestured for Carver to come closer.
Carver remained where he was. “Your dagger,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Your dagger. The one you took from Wolf.”
It had been a calculated guess. Something about Lang’s gait — the way he carried his left leg, stiffer than the right — that had tipped him off. Sure enough, the old man bent down and raised the hem of his robes, revealing a sheath sewn into the inside of his left boot.
The steel glimmered as he pulled the blade from the sheath and laid it on the table. Carver picked it up and checked the inscription. Mehr sein als scheinen. Be more than you seem.
“Now then,” Lang said. “If we’re all feeling more secure, I think you’ll find this artifact much more enlightening.”
Carver rested on his elbows, studying the sketch that was pressed between glass. Judging by the color of the handmade parchment, it had been drawn a very long time ago. It depicted an ancient burial box in the Jewish or Greek style. Dimensions for the ossuary were neatly provided: 51 cm in length by 31 cm high by 28 inches deep. Weight: 20 kilograms. Inscription: Yeshua bar Yehosef. Among the symbols engraved on the ossuary was the Chi-Ro, which was one of the earliest Christian symbols, layering the Greek X with the P. The monogram of Jesus Christ.
“This ossuary,” Lang continued, “was discovered in the catacombs beneath what is now St. Peter’s Basilica between 319 and 333 AD. All that is certain about the ossuary’s origins is that Constantine’s followers unearthed it when digging a well to serve the original church, which is now the site of St. Peter’s Basilica.”
“Wait,” Seven said. “Wasn’t the tomb of St. Peter also discovered underneath the church?”
“’And I tell you that you are Peter’,” Father Callahan said, quoting Matthew, “’And upon this rock I shall build my church.’”
The intelligence czar confirmed with a nod. “To be exact, the bones of St. Peter were eventually discovered within 20 meters of the original ossuary resting place. Obviously, the concept of Christ’s physical remains on Earth wasn’t a completely unknown concept, but it was a contradiction of accepted scripture. Nevertheless, the presence of an old-fashioned burial box, entombed near the remains of Peter, and inscribed with Jesus’ name, created doubt among the church establishment.”
Father Callahan drew closer. “How much doubt, exactly?”
“We can only imagine the questions swirling in Constantine’s mind. Among the papal archives, he had apparently seen a written legend. A rambling diary, in actuality, by an unknown author stating that after the crucifixion, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate had ordered the destruction of Jesus’ body in order to keep the burial tomb from becoming a shrine for believers. According to the legend, it was this decision that led Peter to take Jesus’ body, with the help of Joseph of Arimethea, and hide it from the Romans in Judea. Eventually, the diary claims, it was brought to Rome.”
The priest’s mouth hung open as he pondered the possibility. “Rome. Quite literally the last place on Earth Pilate’s men would think of looking for it.”
Seven ran her fingers through her closely cropped hair. “You described the legend as a rambling diary. How could that possibly stand up to scripture?”
“You have to understand the context of written history in the time of Constantine. There were very few written documents at that time. The oral tradition was strong, and belief in the core teachings of Christ was what mattered then, since there were thousands of variants between the Greek, Latin, Coptic and other versions of the Bible. Most, but not all of them, told of Christ’s physical resurrection. And what was scripture but a series of stories handed down by eyewitnesses and apostles? It wasn’t until approximately 50 years after Constantine’s death that St. Jerome translated the old Latin into the authoritative Bible that we know today.”
“Did Constantine believe the ossuary was legitimate?”
“Not especially,” Lang said. “He was a firm believer in physical resurrection. But he was willing to consider the possibility that he would be proven wrong some day.”
“So he decided to keep the ossuary safe, but secret.”
Lang nodded. “He therefore mandated that the story of the mysterious ossuary be documented and passed on to each succeeding pope by the dead or dying pope’s camerlengo. Eventually, the tradition was expanded to be shared with each new head of Vatican Intelligence, so that the secret could be protected in the event of foreign conquest. It also served to insulate the pope against any violence undertaken to protect it.”
“And now?” Seven said.
“It goes without saying that the pontiff is innocent,” Callahan cut in. “His Holiness would never agree to these atrocities in the name of God.”
Lang crossed himself. “What we do, we do to serve God. It is my sincere hope that His Holiness remains naive of the war we are waging to protect him.”
“I’m not easily offended,” Carver growled. “But I don’t want to hear another word justifying these murders in the name of God.”
Lang leaned back in his chair. “That’s fine, Agent Carver, because I’m tired of talking. I’ve told you more than I should have in hopes that we might better understand each other. I suggest you get on with whatever business you have planned.”
Now thoroughly satisfied that Lang was the leader they had been looking for, Carver sat in the chair opposite the desk and looked the old man in the eyes. “What if I could lead you to the ossuary, and allow you to return it to the Vatican?”
Lang folded his hands before him. “Then the secret would be restored. All hostilities would cease immediately.”
Carver turned, suppressing a smile. He had Lang right where he wanted him. “I would need something else in return.”
“Naturally. And what might that be?”
“The names and locations of the men who killed Rand Preston.”
Subterranean Rome
It was Lars who first discovered that something was wrong. Just an unsettling feeling, quickly followed by butterflies in his stomach. Seconds later, the lights in the enormous home flickered, and then went out completely. The jumbo-size lift that operated 24 hours a day behind him — that which connected the palazzo to the subterranean chamber beneath Rome — ground to a halt. The darkness itself felt alive, like a dangerous organism that threatened to swallow him whole.
Magi’s distant bark echoed up and down the elevator shaft. A husky growl that was unlike any sound the animal had made in the past.
Where the hell were the emergency lights? As soon as the thought had come to him, the battery-powered lights came to life. The peach-colored illumination felt strangely relaxing, as if he were in some upscale restaurant.
Then came the screeching. It took a moment before he recognized the terrible sound of the nightingale floors. It sounded more like bats than birds. Someone was running at full speed down the corridor. He forced himself to breathe as he crouched behind one of the climate-control appliances. He steadied the weapon before him, switched it off safety, and rested his index finger on the trigger.