The Shroud Conspiracy

by John Heubusch

  He sat down calmly in the shower stall and looked at his watch. The hands glowed in the dark. 22:04. He laughed to himself and realized that if it had been accurate, it would have shown only thirty seconds left to live. He closed his eyes and relaxed and tried to take himself out of the terror of the moment. What does one think of in the end? he asked himself. He was surprised. He thought of his father wearing a clean, white shirt, holding his hand as they crossed the street for ice cream on his eighth birthday, the only one he remembered. He thought of the time he was caught in a freak thunderstorm hitchhiking to class at Stanford. He had stood under an overpass for an hour, smelling the falling rain. And he thought of Domenika and how she looked the day they’d met.

  He opened his eyes and pulled himself toward the toilet, which sat at eye level. He dunked his face into the shallow, tepid water at the bottom of the bowl to cool it. What an undignified way to die, he thought. He felt the flimsy floor beneath him bend and buckle under his weight, as it had for years, and wondered why he had never gotten around to repairing it. And then, an idea. He wrapped his arms around the bowl, locked his hands together behind it, and pulled the toilet upward with every bit of strength he could find. At first there was a loud crack, and then another, and then a loud tearing sound as the base of the toilet sheared itself away from the rotting floorboards below. He heaved the toilet aside and looked down at salvation: a two-and-a-half-foot hole and green grass below. Wildly, he ripped aside the floorboards and plastic pipes surrounding the hole and wriggled his way into the space. Then he dove headfirst onto the ground under the Airstream. He turned on his back and in one swift motion rolled like a barrel through a thick wall of flame on the south side of the trailer and out into the safety of his yard. As he rose and stumbled backward and then turned to look behind him, the entire ceiling of the trailer gave way in a horrid whoosh as it ignited everything inside.

  But what caught his eye before he ran down the street for help was something he would remember for the rest of his life. Two large steel beams, fixed in the shape of a cross, were braced firmly like a barrier against his trailer’s front door.

  CHAPTER 32

  Rome, Italy

  August 2014

  It took several days for Bondurant to get his life in order as he readied for his trip to Rome to see Domenika. All of his belongings remained in a heap of ruins that once was his shiny Airstream trailer. His repeated calls to Domenika since the disastrous videoconference call went unanswered, just as they had when he’d returned from Turin.

  Bondurant had lost patience with that game and decided to buy a one-way ticket to Rome to see Domenika, whether she answered his phone calls or not. Bondurant had more socks in his suitcase than he had ideas in his head as to how he might help Domenika get her job back at the Vatican, but he was willing to do whatever it took to prove that he was there to help.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Father,” Bondurant said, genuinely happy to see Parenti after weeks apart. He clasped the little priest’s hands in his and bent over to give him an awkward hug. “Are you sure this is her building?”

  “Quite certain. I have met her here before,” the priest said as he glanced around them nervously.

  “Is there a problem, Father?”

  Bondurant looked up and down the busy street for anything odd that might catch Parenti’s eye. They were in the picturesque neighborhood of Navona, just south of the Vatican in Rome. It was an unseasonably cool morning, and the crisp air carried the scent of roasted chestnuts from the vendors down the street.

  “My friend, there would be great trouble if I were to be seen with you. Barsanti’s spies are everywhere,” the priest said as he pressed Aldo’s head back into his satchel. He darted his eyes about him more dramatically than Bondurant felt was warranted. “Needless to say, you are persona non grata anywhere near the Vatican, Doctor.”

  “I beg to differ, Father. I am persona non grata all over the Christian world.”

  “We all bear our crosses, do we not, Dr. Bondurant?” Parenti said with a scowl on his face. “Mine would be the tourist restrooms of St. Peter’s Basilica.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Bondurant asked.

  “I was relegated by Barsanti to the role of washroom attendant in St. Peter’s. I can assure you, Doctor, it was not a promotion. Can you not smell the urine on me?” Parenti said.

  “I am very sorry to hear that, Father.”

  “Domenika was even less fortunate,” Parenti said. He looked sullen. “I’m sure you know she was dismissed.”

  “She told me. But the Vatican’s insane, Father. She had nothing to do with my conclusions, and they know it,” Bondurant said.

  “Didn’t she tell you?” the priest asked.

  “Tell me what?”

  “She was not terminated because of your conclusions, Doctor. That was out of her hands,” Parenti said. “It was the discovery of her neglect to report your accident that nearly took the Shroud. That was her undoing.”

  Bondurant nearly dropped to his knees on the sidewalk from the weight of the news.

  He was sorry about a lot of things that had happened since that unforgettable evening when his report on the Shroud had been leaked to the press. He’d wondered whether it was Sehgal who had leaked the report, and what possible motivation he might have for doing it. It was as if a bomb had dropped and turned the world upside down. The Vatican had been caught completely off guard, and there had been a lot of recriminations and finger pointing. Things were a mess.

  He had been forced to take a leave of absence from the Enlightenment Institute. His board of directors suggested that his presence was a distraction and it would be better to let things simmer down. What an understatement, he thought. Bondurant had become even more of an international pariah in the Christian world than he had been previously, which made his presence at the unguarded compound a security threat to everyone who worked there. The Institute had suffered through three bomb scares in a single month.

  He was sorry too that he had lost his cozy silver Airstream trailer on a prime spot near the Chesapeake. The management of the quiet trailer park he had once called home refused to let him renew the lease on his lot out of fear of another reprisal. The neighbors felt unsafe and wanted him out.

  But most of all, he was sorry for Domenika. She was the one who had suffered the most. His one bit of luck came when Parenti returned his repeated phone calls and arranged their clandestine meeting in Rome. When his leave of absence from the Institute had been made official, he bought the open-ended ticket to Rome. Twenty-four hours later, he found himself in front of Domenika’s apartment building with no plan, a few days’ worth of clothes, and no clue what to say if he found her. He was taking it one day and, often, even one hour at a time.

  “Okay, so which one is her apartment?” Bondurant asked as he looked toward the tall building before them.

  “Lord knows, Doctor. Where we’re standing is the best I can do.”

  “Are you kidding me, Father?” Bondurant said, disappointed. “There must be a hundred apartments in this building.”

  “Come with me,” the priest said. He insisted they get off the street and out of the open.

  They ascended the long staircase that led to the building’s entrance and were greeted by a massive doorman who stood like a statue as he blocked access to the large glass doors behind him.

  “Father, how can I help you?” the rotund figure bellowed as he flicked his cigarette butt down the stairway to join the graveyard of others he’d sent to rest there already. “What is your business here?”

  “Yes, we’re looking for a woman,” Bondurant said as they cautiously approached him.

  “Aren’t we all?” the doorman grunted.

  “No, my son,” Father Parenti interrupted quickly. “I am here to perform the sacrament of last rites. And I am in a hurry, if you understand what I mean.”

  The doorman immediately took a step backward, his face now looking ominous.

  “
And you are?” the doorman said as he nodded at Bondurant. He reached for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.

  “I am . . .” Bondurant said as he stared at Parenti. He paused long enough for the priest to continue the charade.

  “He is responsible for preparing the body when the moment arrives, my son,” Parenti said as he pointed to Bondurant’s suitcase. “Now, if you would be so kind, I have misplaced my address book, and I am in need of her apartment number. Quickly, if you will. Time is of the essence. Her name is—”

  “Domenika Jozef,” Bondurant said as he got in on the act.

  “Domenika Jozef? Domenika Jozef? That is impossible. You are absolutely sure, Father?” the doorman said. He lit up a cigarette and looked at the pair as though they had just stolen something from him.

  Over four thousand miles I have flown to see her, Bondurant thought, and this is how it’s going to end? Last rites? Where on earth did that come from? A worried thought spread across his brain. For all we know, she danced past the doorman on her way out of here ten minutes ago, he thought.

  “Sir, we are terribly sorry,” Bondurant said as he grabbed the suitcase and readied to leave. “It’s just that—”

  “I am sorry as well,” the doorman replied, looking confused. “I have worked this day shift for six months now, and I have not seen Ms. Jozef for over two weeks.”

  “Pardon us, sir,” the priest said as he looked up at him with a sense of urgency in his eyes. “She has been here wasting away as a shut-in. She should not meet her maker alone. That is not a burden you want to live with.”

  “And such a lovely girl, Father,” the doorman said. He stared pensively out toward the street.

  “The apartment number, sir?” Parenti insisted.

  “Six-three-six, Father. Perhaps I should come with you. You will need assistance. Really, such a beautiful girl.”

  “Lebbra, my son, lebbra,” the priest said forebodingly as he shook his head.

  “In that case, Father,” the doorman said. He stepped aside quickly, as if duty bound. “I shall mind the door. God be with you.” He reached out and pressed a series of numbers on the entry keypad, and a loud buzz signaled that the door had unlocked.

  They entered the lobby and made a direct line straight to the small elevator ahead. Once inside, Bondurant pushed the button for the sixth floor. He turned to Parenti as soon as the doors had closed.

  “Last rites? Are you serious? You could have gotten us thrown down those stairs.”

  “It was the best I could do under the circumstances, Doctor,” Parenti said.

  “Listen, you’re a priest. Where does it say you can lie like that?”

  “You’re the world-renowned authority on religions.”

  “Okay, then. What is ‘lebbra’?”

  “I believe you know it as leprosy,” Parenti said, smiling as the elevator doors opened onto the sixth floor. He pulled Aldo from inside his coat pocket and set him on the ground. The dog immediately bolted down the hallway as if picking up Domenika’s scent.

  They made their way down the long, dimly lit hallway and stopped at apartment 636, precisely where the dog sat and waited. Without hesitation, Parenti reached out and pushed the doorbell. A melodious chime sounded inside.

  “Are you insane, Father?” Bondurant protested in a loud whisper as he grabbed his hand and stepped back from the doorway. “Can’t you see I am not ready? I need a minute. What am I supposed to say?”

  “Ridiculous, Doctor. Of course you know what to say.” Parenti reached out quickly and pressed the button once more. “You say what they always say in the American movies. You say ‘I love you.’ She says she loves you too. You will kiss. Five, maybe ten seconds. And that is it. That is why you are here, is it not? Very simple.”

  Bondurant’s heart raced. He started to believe his impulsive journey was a huge mistake. And, worse yet, showing up at her doorstep unannounced after weeks of the silent treatment was sure to produce a disaster. He just knew it.

  After almost a minute, there was no answer. Not a sound came from inside. Bondurant knew an opening for escape when he saw one. He picked up his suitcase and began to head back to the elevator. He had no idea where he was going or what he would do next, but he needed some time to get some sleep and regroup before he saw her.

  “Just a moment, Doctor,” Parenti called out. “Amazing! The door is unlocked!”

  You’re kidding me, Bondurant thought. “Father, don’t you dare go in there,” he shouted from down the hallway. But it was too late. The dog had already scampered inside the home, and the priest, halfway through the door, motioned frantically for Bondurant to come in.

  The three of them stood in the entry foyer of Domenika’s apartment, perched as still as frightened birds who had cleverly found their way indoors but hadn’t a clue what to do next. They looked around at the small, immaculately kept apartment and the kind of stillness that meant not a soul was home. Bondurant thought again what an enormous mistake it was to enter, violating her space. At the same time, he was captivated as he stood surrounded by the nest she had made for herself, filled with the artwork, books, and mementos she obviously cherished. And the smell. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined her there, welcoming him to her private world for the first time.

  On a small coffee table beside the couch by the large bay window he could see several framed photographs. He made his way slowly over to them and, careful not to disturb them, leaned over to see what images she treasured enough to keep. There was one that looked likely to be her parents relaxing on a park bench. Another with Domenika bundled up on a snowy day in Central Park with someone who had to be her sister.

  And then two other pictures caught his eye. One captured her and the entire Shroud investigation team in Turin. Surprising that she had kept that one, he thought, after all that had gone wrong. But it was the second photo that was a stunner. It was the same photo Domenika had given him at their farewell dinner that showed the two of them in casual conversation beside the Shroud. Bondurant couldn’t believe she had kept a copy of her own. He picked up the framed photo of the two of them and stood completely still with a lump in his throat.

  “You must be Jon Bondurant,” a sleepy voice said from the doorway to the bedroom, off the living room.

  Bondurant was so startled that he dropped the frame on the rug and dislodged the glass. A beautifully striking woman, almost six feet tall, stood before him in the doorway, topless and wearing only a purple thong. For a moment Bondurant mistook the woman for Domenika herself. She stood casually in the doorway to the bedroom. Her figure was perfect. Brunette hair flowed halfway down her back. She took her time and eyed him confidently from head to toe.

  “Nice picture, huh?” she said as she yawned and pointed to the picture he had dropped. “She said you were cute. She was right.”

  “I’m a . . . I’m a . . .” Bondurant stuttered as he bent over to pick up the photo. “You must be her sister, Joanna?”

  “Yes. Now you’re not going to run and hide from me, are you?” she asked. “She said you were shy.”

  Bondurant turned beet-red. Domenika had obviously been talking.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “And who is your friend, this adorable priest and his little wonder dog?” Joanna asked as she nodded toward Parenti and the dog.

  They stood frozen, their eyes transfixed on the half-nude figure she presented, not making a move. Parenti’s jaw was hanging open.

  “This is a friend of mine and a friend of Domenika’s as well, Father Parenti. Father Parenti, say hello to Domenika’s sister, Joanna.”

  The dog leapt in excitement, but Parenti was still speechless.

  “Now who’s the one with the shyness problem?” Bondurant said, amused.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of you as well,” Joanna responded as she reached for a blouse that hung over the hallway closet door. She slipped it on nonchalantly and covered herself. Bondurant recognized it as one of Domenika’s, and it fit
Joanna perfectly.

  “Listen, Joanna, I am really sorry we have barged in on you like this,” Bondurant said.

  “Barged? Breaking and entering, I’d say,” Joanna said. She smiled and glided gracefully toward Bondurant to take a closer look at him.

  “I have flown all night to be here, Joanna,” Bondurant said. “I’ve been trying to reach Domenika for over three weeks. I have just got to see her.”

  “That makes two of us, Doctor,” Joanna said. “I just arrived last night from New York.”

  “The doorman downstairs says he has not seen her for a while as well,” Parenti said, finally finding his voice. “Has she gone home to your parents?”

  “My parents in Krakow have not heard a word from her either. They’re worried sick. It’s just not like Nika to go off the grid like this. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Any signs of her at all?” Bondurant asked as he looked about the room.

  “There were notices I found slipped under the door. One that says they have been holding her mail downstairs but are starting to return it. And here’s another saying she’s behind on this month’s rent. There is something, though. What do either of you know about India?”

  “India?” Bondurant said, stunned. “What makes you suggest India?”

  “There was this,” Joanna said as she turned toward the desk behind her. She unfolded a copy of a flight itinerary and held it out for both of them to see. “A one-way ticket to Mumbai. Jetstar Asia. Ten days ago.”

  Bondurant studied the travel document for a moment.

  “I should have known it! I had a hunch she might have gone there,” he said. The only connection he could imagine between Domenika and India was Sehgal. Had she traveled there to settle the bitter dispute she’d had with him over his findings of an ancient goat’s DNA? Her job was on the line. That made sense. And Bondurant remembered Sehgal had challenged her to come to Mumbai to disprove his results. But she was no scientist, and flying all the way to India was a long way to go just to give him grief.