“Poor Dr. Meridian,” Beth said, looking out the window in the direction of the museum. “Imagine what she must be going through. We have to get over there.”
Anna glared at Mercer, who stood facing her.
“How could you?” she said icily. “It wasn’t your decision! You had no right to leak that to the press!”
“I didn’t,” Mercer said, maintaining calm. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
“You’re the only one besides me to have the papyri in your possession since they were found,” she accused. “The other morning, when you came into my hotel room and took them while I was sleeping—”
“What?” Roberto inadvertently said aloud.
“I only took the bag back to my room for safekeeping,” Mercer insisted. “I told you that. Mary will tell you the same thing. I never even took them out of the bag.”
“You didn’t show them to her? You didn’t take Peter’s leaf and keep it for yourself before giving the rest back to me?”
“No, Anna,” Mercer said, meeting her livid stare. “I did not.”
She desperately wanted to believe him.
“How else could they have gotten out?” she puzzled.
“Were the scrolls ever left in this room unguarded?”
“No,” she replied flatly. “Wait … yes. For just a few minutes, when I left the lab to make a call. I couldn’t get a signal down here. But I locked the door behind me, and it was still locked when I got back. Except for Dr. Laneri, only you and I have the new code. And there’s no other way in.”
“Laneri?”
“He’d never have given up exclusivity,” she insisted. “And I’ve known him for fifteen years. He’d never have taken the leaf. He’s an honorable man.”
“And I’m not,” Mercer added.
“I didn’t mean that,” Anna said. “I never meant that. I’m sorry, Albert … I was upset.”
He nodded, placing his hand on hers. “I know, my dear. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. I should never have said that.”
“All is forgiven,” he smiled. “Now … no one else had access to your safe deposit box?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“And the scrolls were never otherwise out of your possession?”
“No.”
“Well, Anna,” Mercer said, sitting down, “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Roberto had slipped on a pair of earphones and was listening to a radio broadcast.
“They’re saying an analysis was done in Switzerland,” he said. “Both of the paper and the ink. They reached the same conclusions we did … that the document is authentic.”
“It’s just old,” Anna corrected him. “That’s all we know. We have no definite proof that the apostles wrote them.”
“Dictated them,” Mercer corrected her, without thinking.
“Dictated them, then,” Anna snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t a time for petty corrections.”
“It was you who kept saying the world had a right to know,” Anna pointed out.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And I also said that no one should be told until we were absolutely certain of their true authorship. If I were going to leak the papyri, why would I have sent one of the leaves out before I was certain it was legitimate? Why would I have risked the ridicule had it proven to be a forgery?”
“Maybe you had an arrangement with a friend in Switzerland,” she proposed. “Maybe he ran your tests for you and was told to leak the story if they came back positive.”
“Do you really believe that, Anna?”
She looked into his gray eyes, finding the gentleness there she had always known. She then searched herself for an answer.
“No,” she said. “I don’t.” She walked to him, put her arms out, and hugged him. “I’m sorry, Albert.”
He patted her on the back and smiled as he returned the embrace. “It’s all right, my dear,” he said soothingly. “I can’t blame you.”
“Raphael,” Anna said, as they broke the hug. “Somehow, it had to be him. He was there in Rome … Roberto saw him at the dig.”
“I recall Samuel speaking of the man,” Mercer reflected, nodding. “He’s been a plague on archaeology for a long time and surely has built up a sizable clientele. Such a pirate, no doubt, would have many buyers lined up waiting for such an antiquity.”
“Then why not take them all when he had the chance? Every sheet? It doesn’t make any sense to steal only one, when each sheet could bring millions.”
“Perhaps, in a gamble that we’d not notice right away, giving him time to run his tests and release the findings. First word is everything … Perception usually overrides truth. Now, anything we say will sound defensive, not scientific … and the black-market value of the papyrus will be much higher.”
“I don’t buy that,” Anna said, shaking her head. “I see what you mean, but all Raphael sees are dollar signs.”
“Then maybe it wasn’t him.”
Roberto spoke again. “Now they’re saying the Vatican’s gone crazy. A million people, or better, crowding the square.”
Anna and Mercer looked into each other’s eyes, more gently now. There was a shared pain, an anxiety that was rapidly building.
“It’s started,” Anna said.
“Yes,” Mercer agreed. “We must now speak to the press. Tell them all we know. Perhaps, despite our delay, we can still ease the suffering. Minimize the damage. Convince a few through reason that the stolen scroll is a fluke … a forgery.”
She glanced at the phone, turned off since the moment Roberto had hung up on the reporter, then she rushed to her purse and got her own.
“One document can still be a fluke,” she said. “A dozen, likely not.”
She positioned one of the scrolls under the lamp and snapped a close-up picture with her phone, then dialed.
“Who are you calling?” Roberto asked.
“Texting,” she said, flipping the phone open and pointing it in different directions. “If the signal down here will let me.”
Receiving a weak but present indicator, she began punching buttons, her long nail moving swiftly and decisively.
“When they stole Peter’s leaf,” she said, “they may have paused to read the one telling where the other seven are buried. And if they get their hands on those, we’ll never quiet the storm.”
Dyson’s phone beeped three times as it skittered across the table. He had already tried phoning Anna but had been unable to reach her and had resorted to voice mail.
Picking it up, he read the legend that filled the screen: Text Message Received. Pressing a few buttons, he called up the display and recognized Anna’s number across the top.
“Hi, professor,” he said. “I was expecting you.”
The message, following on the heels of the reports he had seen, wasn’t altogether unexpected: Do not come to milan. go directly to pompeii. will call with specifics.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
With a subtle smile, he gulped down the last of his coffee, gathered his things, and went to the Alitalia counter, where a pretty uniformed agent greeted him.
“Yes sir. How may I help you?”
“Change of plans,” he said, pulling his ticket from an inner jacket pocket. “I need to switch for the next flight to Naples.”
The Bologna Room in the apostolic palace was as hidden away as it was magnificent. Few outside the hierarchy ever saw its walls, covered with ancient frescoes of geographical maps of the city and surrounding territory, or its vaulted ceiling, bedecked with murals of the apostles amid arches and columns of architectural splendor. Built for Pope Gregory XIII in 1575, i
t had served as the site of some of the most vital gatherings of the leaders of the Roman Catholic Church.
Now, another meeting was about to take place.
Cardinal Theodor Sefala and Cardinal William Burke of the College of Cardinals stood at the center of the room, their faces grim, their duty clear. Another, Cardinal Bishop Antonio Vicoro, entered through the room’s double doors, and as they shut behind him, he crossed the black-and-white-tiled floor to where the others waited.
“We have considered the matter,” he said. “The Roman Curia have made their concerns known, and his Holiness has decided upon a course of action.”
“These documents cannot be allowed to gain in importance,” said Burke, one hand gripping the bridge of his nose. “I do not believe them true. They cannot be.”
“His Holiness shares that belief,” said Vicoro.
“The question is,” Sefala said, “how do we extinguish this flame before it grows any larger and spreads out of control?”
“His Holiness will make a full condemnation,” Vicoro said. “The faithful will listen.”
“Indeed,” said Sefala, “those who remain. But what concerns me are the sheep who will be lost to us, who will scatter before the storm. They will depart the flock before we are able to get the situation under control. Already there is much dissent.”
“Those whose faith is shallow quickly fall away,” Vicoro observed. “It has always been so.”
“We must give them a reason to doubt the scrolls,” Burke suggested. “Despite their age and apparent authenticity. We cannot lose souls over such a disclosure.”
“What if they are true?” Sefala pondered. “Do we serve God by denouncing truth?”
“They are not,” Burke insisted. “Our heavenly Father would never unleash such a thing as this upon the world.”
“It is not sufficient merely to decry the scrolls themselves,” Vicoro said. “Their source must also be discredited. From wickedness comes wickedness … We cannot allow any measure of credibility to stand behind them. It has been decided. In an hour his Holiness will speak to those in the square.”
Cardinal Vicoro turned to leave, his footsteps echoing off the walls.
“By ‘source,’” Sefala called after him, “do we mean the woman who discovered them, who made them public? We would train this condemnation upon her directly?”
Vicoro replied, the words laced with regret. “For the sake of the church, we do what we must.”
“Pastor Jerry, have you heard?”
The church secretary stood in the doorway of Orsen’s office, clutching her Bible to her chest, shaken by the morning’s events. He was reading a fishing magazine, his glasses turned up on his forehead.
“Yes, my dear,” Orsen replied, absently nodding and pointing to his radio, seemingly unconcerned. “I heard.” The news broadcast had ended; oldies from the sixties now wafted from the speaker.
“What if it’s true? What if Jesus wasn’t really who we all thought he was?”
“It doesn’t change a thing, Tiffany,” Orsen said. “Jesus taught us about kindness and generosity and loving our neighbor, and those things are all true no matter where they come from.”
“But, doesn’t it make a difference if—”
“Now, listen,” the pastor interrupted, lowering the magazine. “Don’t get yourself worked up. God works in mysterious ways. Always has, always will. Besides, they’re pulling old stuff out of the ground all the time. Doesn’t mean a thing to the here and now. Life goes on.”
Orsen returned to his reading. The young woman still was anxious and stood in silence for a few moments, staring out a window. She had come to the man in search of reassurance but had received only trite, insubstantial sayings. Seeing that no real comfort was to be found, she turned and slowly walked away.
“How about another coffee, darlin’?” Orsen shouted after her. “Four sugars this time.”
Beth, Craig, and Neil entered the museum grounds on foot, having walked from the restaurant. As they approached the entrance, they realized the commotion that lay ahead.
“Oh no,” Beth moaned.
Television news crews and other members of the press had surrounded the building, running to and fro as they hurried to set up their chosen shots. Dozens of camera trucks crowded the narrow driveway; others had already congested the modest parking lot. Technicians ran wires and erected transmitting equipment, which gleamed white against the dark stone of the edifice behind them. Boom microphones swayed, finding their targets. A news helicopter swept low overhead, slowly moving as its cameras captured the throng below.
“Smile, guys,” Craig said.
The students dashed forward, hoping to run the gauntlet of reporters without resistance. As they neared the museum doors, they saw Laneri to one side, dealing with the hungry press as best he could. Italian was being shouted, loudly and quickly, both questions and answers.
“I wish Roberto was here,” Beth said. “He could tell us what they’re saying.”
“You don’t need to know Italian for that,” Craig replied. “They must want to know where the professor is, and the old guy in the suit is stalling for time, keeping them away.”
They had started up the steps, when suddenly a security guard confronted them, commanding them to halt.
“We’re Dr. Meridian’s students,” Beth said, showing her student ID. “We have to get in to see her. You know us … You’ve seen us before.”
“Ah, Meridian.” The guard nodded, gleaning their meaning though his English was poor. “Oldefield. Si, potete entrare.” He motioned them all inside, opening the door and closing it behind them just as several reporters made a rush to follow. Denied admittance, they pressed against the windows, their camera strobes lighting up the hallway.
“Wow,” Craig said, waving to the crowd as the trio walked away. “I feel like Elvis.”
“Just shut up,” Neil snapped. “This is serious.”
They rounded a corner and found Anna on her phone in the elevator lobby. She looked up, saw her students, said good-bye to the person on the other end of the line, and hung up just in time to hug Beth, who had run to her.
“We heard,” Beth said, holding her tight. “It’s terrible. No wonder you were so upset.”
“Why did you tell the press before we even knew?” Craig asked.
“I didn’t,” Anna said in frustration. She pressed the elevator call button. “Someone leaked it. One of the papyri was stolen and sent to an outside lab.”
“How?” Neil asked. “Someone broke into the museum storeroom?”
“No,” Anna said. “The documents weren’t in the storeroom.”
The bell dinged and the door opened. They got into the elevator.
“You look nice,” Beth told her professor during the descent, trying to cheer her up a bit. Anna smiled and gently ran a hand along the back of the girl’s head.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said. “So do you.”
At the basement level, it was a short walk from the elevator to the lab. With Anna in the lead, they entered to find Mercer and Roberto still scrutinizing the papyri leaves.
“Roberto!” Beth said, hugging him.
“Hello, Dean Mercer,” Craig said, suddenly and noticeably on his best behavior. “When did you get here? I hope you had a good flight.”
“It was fine, Mr. Dunn,” he said, smiling. “You may relax.” He then nodded at the others. “Ms. Whitney … Mr. Meyer.”
“Hello, Dean.”
“Anything happen while I was upstairs?” Anna asked him. “I was gone ten whole minutes.”
“Well, Mr. Giordano and I began to scrutinize the writing on the other leaves, hoping to perhaps find a contradiction or linguistic error that might still call them into question.”
“Nothing so far?”
/>
“Not as yet, no.”
“You should see outside,” Beth said. “It’s crazy. The press is all over the place.”
“I’d like to get my hands on whoever told them I found these, and that I’m in here,” Anna said. “I’ll never get past that mob, short of an armored car.”
“You’re going to have to talk to them sooner or later, Anna,” Mercer said. “They need to hear something definitive, and they need to hear it from you.”
“I’d prefer later.”
He smiled, nodding. “As would I, were I you.”
Anna sat down, kicked off her shoes, and rubbed her neck.
“At least I got ahold of Jack,” she said. “Gave him the particulars on Pompeii. He should be in Naples”—she checked her watch—“at about five in the morning. Puts him at Pompeii around sunrise, if he goes straight there.”
“Pompeii?” Craig asked. “What’s down there? Besides a bunch of rude frescoes, I mean.”
“One of the scrolls I found sealed in the box gave the location of another stone box hidden in Pompeii, the other seven supposed confessions. I sent Professor Dyson a shot of the little map doodled at the bottom of one of the leaves.”
“Wait a minute,” Beth said. “The other seven? How many were in the box?”
“Six,” Anna replied. “Paul’s, and those of five of the twelve apostles. Plus the note leading to the others.”
“There are confessions from all twelve apostles?” the girl asked, incredulous. “They all say they faked the whole thing?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Roberto replied.
Beth plopped down hard on a stool and just stared, trying to come to grips with it all.
“I know it’s a lot to deal with,” Anna said, trying to be strong for them despite her own nagging doubts. “But it just can’t be that Christianity is a hoax.”
“Tell them that,” Craig said, jerking a thumb upward. “It’s like fresh meat night at the piranha house, and we’re all in sirloin underwear.”
“Even if they date right, they have to be fakes,” Anna said. “They have to be! But if they are, why were they hidden in that wall?”
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