The Keeper's Cup: A Controversial Archaeological Thriller

by Ken Fry

  It was murder.

  Additionally, the DNA analysis ruled out animal attack. There was none. He also knew that the file and findings had been passed on to the Corpo della Gendarmeria dello Stato della Città del Vaticano – the gendarmerie –, Vatican City’s police force. Exactly who had requested the file, he did not know, nor was he being told.

  What he needed to know now was the bishop’s purpose in the Vatican? He had made a note of exactly where the bishop had been staying and that was to be the next point of his investigation.

  Thirty minutes later, Rizzo, together with his assistant officer, Angelo Florentino, had gained access to the deceased bishop’s apartment. Both were wearing nitrile gloves as part of their inspection kit. A cursory look around revealed a modest setting without anything that looked helpful or interesting at first glance. He went through the wardrobe and all he could find were vestments, clerical clothing, and various black short-sleeved shirts as worn by Catholic clergy around the world. He went through every visible pocket but found nothing. His face creased up with a familiar scowl when on a search for evidence.

  Next, he examined the chest of drawers. Nothing much there either, only underclothes, socks, and scarves. Right at the back of the bottom drawer was wedged a spiral bound notebook. This looks more interesting. He skimmed through it. It contained diagrams and lengthy scripts written in English and what seemed to be Latin. I’ll need an interpreter for this. He got up and handed it to Florentino. “Bag it separately,” he barked.

  In a corner next to a window stood a small wooden desk, and wonder of wonders, he spotted the bishop’s laptop. He proceeded to look at other items nearby – pens, pencils and what one usually expects to find on an office desk. Carefully, he bagged these up and passed them to Florentino before switching on the laptop. There appeared to be no password. Browsing through the contact file, he found names, addresses, plus email addresses of dozens of people. Most appeared to be UK based church people. His eyes landed on the name Professor Fergal Lars Christie. Next to it were the initials SOTA. Those letters also appeared beside a number of other names. There was no clue as to what they meant. This needs to be looked into. What does SOTA mean?

  The bishop must have been an organised man. He had devised a separate section labelled ‘ITALY.’ In this were the names of several priests and bishops. They would all have to be interrogated. What were they doing in his list of contacts? How well did they know the bishop? Amongst them, with both a UK and Vatican address, was a Cardinal Nicholas. His name was marked with an asterisk.

  The laptop was going to need more than a cursory glance.

  Rizzo turned to his officer. “Florentino, bag up this laptop and let’s get back to my office. We need a closer examination of the entire content of this computer. Get going now.”

  Later that day, Rizzo sat alone in his small but comfortable office. The walls remained bare. Not a framed picture or awards were to be seen. He had given strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed, not even if it was God himself. His subordinates knew their Inspector well, and pity on those who broke his orders.

  With painstaking care, an art learnt over the years, he methodically examined each file on the laptop – even its Google history, which dealt mainly with archaeological discoveries. What he discovered was a file labelled SOTA, and in parenthesis, written in italics beneath the letters, Society of Truth in Archaeology.

  So that’s what SOTA stands for. Intriguing.

  He double-clicked on the file and it opened to reveal a list of several dozen names, addresses and phone numbers – some priests and some not. Heading the list was the name of Professor Christie from the UK. Further examination revealed that this society was deeply critical of the official statements given by the Vatican Pontifical Academy of Archaeology about certain discoveries.

  The society had investigated several biblical discoveries and found that some were genuine, but others were mostly fakes. Amongst these were the numerous, so-called, Tombs of Jesus ossuaries, purporting to hold the bones of Christ and his mother – even his rotting sandals. The list was long. What was highlighted in red and filled several pages of the document was an examination by the bishop, who appeared to head up the team. It was the discovery near Qumran, of extra gospels written by the apostles, Thomas and Philip. The contents were highly explosive. He could see how, if made public, it could threaten the foundations of the entire Church. Jesus did not die. He recovered and eventually fled to Britannia with his pregnant wife, Mary Magdalene, and their firstborn son. Astonishingly so, and beyond his belief, was the mention of a healing goblet or cup. Drinking from the cup healed people, it said. And that no matter how many times it was used, it never emptied. It was said to contain the blood and water from the pierced side of Christ.

  Rizzo had never been a religious man and had always regarded himself as an agnostic with atheistic leanings. He was unable to accept virgin births, water changing into wine and wave walkers in the middle of a stormy sea, and any other biblical miracles. His disdain was nothing to how he regarded some of the Old Testament stories. He saw them as utterly cruel and preposterous. Yet at times, in spite of that, he often had nagging doubts. He put these down to childhood conditioning.

  He leant back in his well-worn chair and let out a long low whistle. What the bishop had written in these files was potential dynamite, capable of destroying the Roman Catholic Church and its millennia-old teachings. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the contents here held a substantial premise for a murder to occur. Someone would definitely want to prevent these finding to be made public. The possible suspects were endless.

  He scoured the whole thing and then found that two days before he was murdered, the bishop was due to meet with the senior English Cardinal, Nicholas. It seems that Pope Adrian had requested the cardinal to set up a meeting between himself and the bishop. Why would the pope do that? What does he know about this group, SOTA?

  Rizzo took a deep breath. He was running his mind around the unprecedented scenario of himself, using the law if necessary, to interview the Holy Father. How do I arrange that? If Cardinal Nicholas sets up meetings for the pope, maybe he can persuade His Holiness to grant me an audience.

  With that thought, he began opening the files of all SOTA members. Reading through, he gathered they all had the same objective, to present the truth – warts as well. That went against the grain of the Pontifical Academy’s viewpoint. The society’s members, to a man, were actively involved in excavations all over the world, mostly in the Middle East. He moved the cursor to the name at the top of the list, Professor Fergal Lars Christie.

  Rizzo gauged that SOTA had activities concentrated in the UK. There was a small, covert team of archaeologists located in the area where the ‘legends and myths’ concerning the mystical area of Glastonbury were rich in stories of Christ and Joseph of Arimathea. The hunt was to find evidence that Jesus had visited or lived in those parts, and to find the vessel that held his blood and water. Rizzo mentally registered his doubts about such an event or object. He had one other major thought. How the hell do they get their funding? I need to meet with this Cardinal Nicholas, to set up a meeting with the pope. Maybe things will come to light.

  There’s one thing Inspector Rizzo was sure of. Someone had plotted Bishop Vincent Fisher’s murder because of the information he possessed. If so, it could stem from Rome or the Vatican itself. Someone from the Vatican City had ordered the file and the request had not been blocked.

  He scratched hard at the back of his head, an old habit whenever he was considering or weighing up events. This whole episode had the rich aroma of intrigue and potential cover-ups. The laptop contained important evidence, which could prove highly damaging.

  Another thing sprang to mind, whoever had arranged the bishop’s demise, if information about them was stored on the laptop, they had been careless by failing to remove it. He would not commit the same carelessness. The bishop’s laptop would have to be placed in his s
afe, where he had always stored the most important evidence. Unless blown up, it was virtually ‘uncrackable.’ Drills were rendered useless and this was his pride and joy. He had it installed during the Berlusconi episode. Damning evidence in the safe had been protected by its thermal relocker, coupled with a glass backup version capable of resisting any thermal lance attack to gain entry. He considered the information on the laptop in the same category. It had the potential to cause a major eruption in religious circles, not just here in Italy but throughout the entire planet. It needed top class protection.

  Whatever, I have to get to Pope Adrian. Maybe he can offer me something to work on.

  18

  Three pairs of eyes staring from behind high, white, facemasks gazed down at the stone box resting in a ceramic sink. It had been washed clean and the muddy, dark yellow hue had succumbed to old-fashioned warm water and the gentle application of an electric toothbrush. It now had an almond white complexion but heavily mottled by time and water. Yet somehow, it remained superficially intact. There were no marks, initials, or diagrams. It was as plain as could be. Around the centre remained the black bitumen-sealing strip that encompassed the entire middle section. Glancing over her facemask at the others, Dr. Miriam Sinclair produced a small surgical scalpel knife. “This is it, folks. Pray to heaven that I don’t damage whatever’s inside, and that it welcomes our invasion.”

  Bending closer, she made a small nick into the strip and then gently, with a slow practised wrist movement, started slicing through the seal from one side to the other. The only audible sound was the soft snick of the knife penetrating the seal.

  The atmosphere was one of tense excitement. Miriam reached her starting point and looked up at the others. “Kelvin, will you please do us the honours and remove the top section? Please, be gentle.”

  Kelvin nodded but was unable to hide the slight shake in his hands. Gripping the top, he gave a tender tug at the lid. To his surprise, it offered no resistance. It came away with ease.

  All three gasped as the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and roses filled the air around them. It was fleeting but powerful.

  “Whoa! That smelled fresh. Amazing…” Miriam whispered in awe.

  All three looked stunned.

  Their amazement climbed even further when they looked inside.

  For several moments, nobody moved. They stared in muted astonishment at the item being protected by the box. It appeared to be a scroll of parchment or vellum. It was intact, as if it had been placed there yesterday. Miriam immediately began taking photographs of every detail.

  “Nobody touch it!” Miriam demanded. “What do you suggest, Professor?”

  “Well, with care and gloved up, let’s take it out and unroll it. We will need a C14 test and if you like, Kelvin, I can include your tablet and say it’s part of our discoveries.”

  “What’s C14 testing?” Kelvin asked.

  Miriam answered, “Radiocarbon dating, which is also referred to as carbon-14 dating, is a method for determining the age of an object containing organic material, by using the properties of radiocarbon – a radioactive isotope of carbon. It’s a scientific method, and the development of radiocarbon dating has had a profound impact on archaeology. There are other exciting developments in this field, which can improve on what we are doing now. Since natural carbon deletes at a constant rate over centuries, an almost accurate date can be given to an object. To give you an example, when they carbon dated The Turin Shroud, it appeared to be just over seven hundred years old. There are, of course, counter arguments against that. Even your tablet, Kelvin, and the etchings, which are carved on limestone millions of years old, can be dated by analysing the particles in the patina decay of the script. All very complicated but leave that to us. We should be able to get an idea how old it is, and this scroll here. You okay with that?”

  Kelvin looked rueful. He was scratching his head as he replied. “Yeah, if you say so. That’s fine. Let’s do it.”

  With the gentlest of hands, the professor lifted the document from out of the box. His experience had taken over. Tight lipped, he placed it on the examination table and took a deep breath. “Someone dim the lights, please.”

  Kelvin did as he asked.

  Grasping the two ends of the scroll, Fergy made a small wrist movement and sensed no stickiness or initial obstacles. With great care, he pushed back on the bulk of the scroll. If he had the equipment, which he hadn’t, he would have been able to read the entire scroll without unrolling it. He stopped and looked into the eyes of the others. “It’s at times like these I wish there was a toilet close by!”

  They chuckled. The tension was broken, and everyone released their breaths.

  The professor continued to roll back the scroll, revealing a light brown, coloured material. “It’s a type of vellum,” he said, peering closer. “Probably goat, or calf.”

  Miriam was recording the event with her camera.

  It soon revealed some sort of writing, done with a black, inky substance. The camera continued to record every revelation.

  “What on earth is this?” Fergy yelled out louder than he normally would have done. Confronting them all was what appeared to be a series of numbers and letters, as we know them from Arabic, our own system. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Keep taking videos and pictures, Miriam. Don’t stop. We’re going to have to show the cardinal, but not everything. Pope Adrian will get them all.”

  Kelvin looked at the writings. “What can they mean? They look like some sort of code.”

  “It’s that, all right,” Miriam said. “I’m going to look at this in more detail. Can someone get me a large sheet of paper and a pen, please? I’m going to copy this down. It will be easier to work with than photographs. This will take a while.”

  Miriam took considerable time copying it all down. “This looks totally baffling. I’ve no idea what it’s about. The lettering is definitely early medieval. I just wonder if we can break the code and read what it says… see if it’s related to Kelvin’s tablet. It would seem odd to me if they’re not related in some way. They were in the same vicinity.”

  “Why all the secrecy?” Kelvin asked.

  “Obviously, whoever wrote it, didn’t want everybody to know what it says.” She stood up and gathered her things. “Fergy, I’ll take this copy back with me. Go and have these carbon dated along with Kelvin’s tablet. That’ll take up to a week to process. C’mon then, let’s get to it!”

  19

  It seemed the archaeologists were behaving themselves, well… almost. Vincenzo was glad he hadn’t been pulled out of bed at four thirty the previous morning. Yet, even without him watching over them, they had supplied him electronically with a file of photographs.

  He sat back in his chair and drew heavily on a cheap English brand cigarette, and with an absent mind, watched the dull, grey smoke spiral upwards and away from him.

  They had also informed him that they were having the items carbon dated to determine its age. When they get the results, they would let him know, and the item would be handed over with all known data.

  Vincenzo browsed through the shots without any interest. It was just an old stone casket with some sort of scroll in it. It would have been more attention grabbing if there had been something on the scroll.

  What he didn’t know was that they had only shown him the back of the scroll and not the front where the diagram, letters and numbers were written.

  With a bored sigh, he pressed ‘Send’ and forwarded them to the cardinal.

  Cracker had complained earlier about the lack of action, although he agreed the money was an anchor for him to continue hanging around. Neither of the two men doubted that the situation would get nasty, and that time might not be far away.

  * * *

  The cardinal blew onto his nail file and watched as a small cloud of nail dust flew upward before disappearing into the pile of his carpet. His quarters were modest, but with unrivalled views of St. Peters and the Basilica.
If on the open market, it would have cost a fortune – either as a rental or straight sale. He wiped away a trickle of perspiration from his forehead. He found the humidity of Rome oppressive. It aggravated the intermittent stabs of pain he often experienced in his deformed leg. God is reminding me of my lack of commitment to his Holy cause. I must try harder. Yet, in his more exalted moments, he was expectant of His grace and favour, and prayed fervently for His blessed hand to touch him even if with only the slightest brush.

  With that thought, he reached for a Davidoff cigarette and placed it next to his keyboard.

  Leaning forward, he activated his desktop computer and went straight to his Gmail inbox. There it was… what he had been hoping for… an email with attachments from Father Vincenzo. I hope this is something good.

  After reading Vincenzo’s message, he understood that more information would be forthcoming once tests had been conducted. Good news. The artefact had been found in a small lake close to Glastonbury, and it appeared to be ancient. That could be significant. The first of the images was displayed on the screen. He forgot his muses and leant forward, zooming the images to their greatest extent. The clarity of the photographs were excellent.

  The casket looked old and the scroll, more so.

  That’s odd… there seems to be no writing on it. What can it be? He opened all the attachments. No matter what, everything hints at a mystery.

  He began to imagine further discoveries of greater importance – such as the never emptying cup.

  How wondrous it would be to find a cup holding the blood and water from the body of Christ. A cup that heals the sick and dying. If it never emptied like they say, then it could be used until the end of time. That would cause a religious upheaval bigger than the universe itself. Scientifically, it is impossible, but He is beyond such restrictions. For Him, there are no impossibilities. To have such an item will transform my movement and the Catholic Church will be rid of false liberals… and that includes His Hereticalness, Pope Adrian.