Griffin glanced over at Sydney. “You want to give him back his gun?”
“Not really.”
“Tell you what,” Griffin said. “When all this is over, we’ll turn it into the carabinieri for safekeeping. You can pick it up from them.”
Sydney smiled at the dark look from the man as he said, “You know they won’t return it to me.”
“A shame,” Griffin said. “Now get the hell out of here so we can find that damned map.”
The two men wasted no time in leaving, and Sydney kept the weapon trained on them as she watched them go. “Adami’s men?”
“That remains to be seen.” He stormed across the street, then dragged the professor up by her arm, demanding, “What map is he talking about?”
27
Griffin resisted the urge to strangle the professor, only because it would make it very difficult to get answers from a dead woman. “I said, what map?”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. Now I suggest you answer my question, because I owe my life to the man they’re holding. In fact, every citizen of America and, yes, even this country, owes their miserable life to that man.”
The professor shook her head, tried to back away. “It’s only a map. I have no idea why anyone else would want it.”
“A map that has something to do with some prince named di Sangro?”
She said nothing.
He let her go, and she fell against the staircase.
“Honestly,” she said, righting herself. “I didn’t think it would be so…I had no idea.”
“No idea about what? That your life was in danger? That others’ lives were as well? The people shooting at you weren’t a clue?”
“I thought the shooting had something to do with whatever Alessandra had gotten herself involved in.”
“You’re telling me Alessandra didn’t know anything about this map?”
“No. I mean I thought it was her association with you and this-this other matter. The one where she went out on that spurious dig with the anthropologist.”
“Anthropologist?” Sydney asked.
Hell. That was all he needed right now, for Sydney to realize that Tasha Gilbert was the anthropologist in question. He didn’t need the grief that would cause once she discovered that it was Tasha who set up his meeting with Sydney back in Quantico. “We’ll talk about this back at the safe house,” he said to Francesca. “And if I have to hook you up to a polygraph to get to the truth, I will.”
Of course, returning to the safe house presented a problem of its own. He had no idea whether its location was compromised. Had Adami’s men followed them from there to the crypt? Or was there a simpler explanation?
He looked at the professor. “Who knew you were coming here?”
“No one.”
“You didn’t telephone anyone?”
“One. A friend in Naples.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. After I left the Vatican. But I had no idea at the time that I was coming here. We hadn’t yet been to the columbarium to discover the clue.”
“Naples? What’s in Naples?”
“Allegedly, the map.”
Griffin ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, angry, wanting to smash something. They’d undoubtedly followed her to the columbarium, and from there, followed all of them to the restaurant and then to the Capuchin Crypt. “Let’s get to the car,” he said, realizing that even if the safe house wasn’t compromised, it would be, the moment he walked into it with the damned cell phone Adami’s goon had given him. It probably had GPS tracking on it, maybe even a remote-activated listening device as well-hell, what was he thinking? Of course it had a listening device, and he tried to recall everything the three of them had discussed since he’d taken possession of the phone. He didn’t think they’d said anything Adami’s men didn’t already know, but even so, he took out the phone, held it up so that Sydney and Francesca could see it, and put his finger over his lips to indicate they weren’t to talk. Sydney nodded, then leaned over to whisper to Francesca, in case she didn’t understand why.
It took them about fifteen minutes to walk back to the van. Once there, he handed Adami’s phone to Sydney, signaled that he was going to make a call with his own, then walked off about twenty feet, standing near a group of tourists who were busy talking, the better to cover his own conversation. He called Giustino. “I think your location’s been compromised. And if it hasn’t, it’s about to be.”
Sydney knew better than to demand that Griffin stop and answer her question as to who this anthropologist was. Nor was she about to demand any answers from Francesca, even though she was fairly certain the professor knew far more than she was letting on. The damned phone Griffin had given her to hold was probably remotely picking up their conversations, and she wasn’t about to risk anyone’s lives by speaking now. Besides, Tex was alive and they had a chance to rescue him, and Griffin understandably needed to concentrate on that, as well as the security of Giustino and the safe house. For now, she did her part, kept an eye on the side mirror, the passing cars, making sure there was no immediate danger. Whatever this map business was about, Francesca Santarella seemed to be in the thick of it, and like it or not, they had no choice but to stay the course.
The trip to the safe house was quiet. The professor had the presence of mind not to say a word, a good thing, because Griffin looked ready to do some serious harm.
At the safe house, Giustino buzzed them through the door. He was already packing up equipment when they walked in. “What happened?” he asked Griffin.
“We have to go to Naples. Adami has Tex.”
Sydney pulled out the cell phone that Griffin had given her, holding her finger to her lips, then saying, “They gave us this and said if they lose contact via this phone, they’ll kill Tex.”
She gave the phone to Giustino, who examined it, walked to the front door, saying loudly, “I watch your phone while you get your things together.” He opened the door, set the cell phone just outside on the landing, before he closed the door again. “No sound comes through reinforced door. The phone may pick up your conversations, even if turned off.”
“What if it rings?” Sydney asked.
“If it rings, I hear it on the monitor.”
The very mention of the monitor reminded her of her encounter with Griffin on the stairs, and she studiously avoided looking at him. Instead, she leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on the closed-circuit monitors of the area surrounding the safe house as Giustino said, “Tell me about Tex.”
Griffin directed Francesca to a chair at the dinette table, glared at her until she finally sat, then turned his attention to Giustino. “I spoke to him myself. Typical Tex. He says he’s fine, and not to do what anyone’s asking. They took the phone away from him after that.”
“Where?”
“I have no idea. But at least he wasn’t in the warehouse when it blew.”
“Then what is happening? Why do they take him?”
“I’m baffled on this one.” He looked at Francesca, who still seemed to be shaken over the night’s activities. As well she should be, Sydney thought. And Griffin said, “They want some map. Perhaps the professor wouldn’t mind explaining to us what it is we need to know?”
“I-Where would you like me to start?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“The beginning would be nice,” he said, taking a seat at the table opposite her.
“Alessandra had contacted me after she had gone to work on an excavation in Egypt. She said the government, you, I presume, thought the whole dig was a setup to cover illegal arms dealing.”
“She told you this?”
“Only because she believed that the government had made a mistake, but she wanted to verify it. She thought the dig was absolutely authentic.”
Sydney tried to remember her conversation with Tasha at dinner that night in D.C. Something about returning from some dig, and her appar
ent paranoia. And Sydney wondered, What were the chances it was the same one? Not that she was about to interrupt Griffin’s interrogation to ask.
“I thought you hated big government,” Griffin said. “Why did you agree to work with her?”
“Because she’d overheard something by the men she was supposed to be watching, something that had to do with a third key.”
Griffin’s reaction was barely noticeable, a slight tensing of the shoulders, and Sydney figured he was thinking of what she’d been able to pick up at Adami’s gathering at his villa. “What about this third key?” he asked Francesca.
“It’s supposed to be the means of finding-well, of finding this map. Alessandra was certain that this is what the men were actually searching for in Egypt, but something made her think that perhaps they were searching in the wrong place. That they’d misinterpreted the location, and she wanted proof. She sent a postcard from the Smithsonian with a note. The pyramid. Not in Egypt. I’m sure she felt that one couldn’t disrupt an entire government operation based on conjecture about some map that many scholars think is merely legend.”
“A map to what?”
It seemed several heartbeats before she finally answered, as though it was a secret she still didn’t want to share. “Some believe it’s the key to the lost Templar treasure. Some, however, believe it is the key to something far more dangerous. Something that could kill millions.”
28
Griffin was certain he’d heard wrong. “The Templar treasure? Dangerous? Forgive me if I don’t follow. We’re talking gold, right?”
“Gold?” Francesca’s expression dismissed this possibility outright. “Do you have any idea what is said to be found in the Templar treasure? Put aside its historical significance, or the questions it could possibly answer about religion, questions that entire wars have been fought over. This goes beyond mere gold.” She looked at each of them, waiting for some response, and when no one spoke, she added, “Do none of you read the Bible?”
“File your complaints with Dumas,” Griffin replied. “About the Templars and these religious artifacts,” Griffin said. “I was under the impression that the treasure was lost in the raid and destruction of the Second Temple of Solomon.”
“Not lost. The treasure itself has been captured and moved many times, cursing all who come across it. One can either believe in God’s hand, or fate, or perhaps the misfortune of being in the path of the black plague, but each time someone has attempted to possess the treasure for their own benefit, the downfall of their civilization has followed shortly thereafter. What remains is trying to retrace the last years of the treasure’s whereabouts. Rome in 70 A.D., Carthage in 455, Constantinople in 533-”
“Carthage?”
“As in Tunisia.”
Hell, he thought. No wonder Adami had set up shop there. He’d been searching for this treasure a lot longer than they’d thought. “Go on.”
“The last word was that the treasure was returned to Jerusalem, only to be hidden once again when the city was ransacked by the Persian Sasanians. After this point, it was never seen again. Except for the rumor that the Templar Knights found it and became the guardians.”
“So the rumor that the treasure is sitting in the vaults of the Vatican is false?”
“If it were at the Vatican, then ask yourself why Dumas is busy searching for it.”
A good point, he thought. “And Adami would be after this for what reason?”
Sydney answered. “Wouldn’t the acquisition of religious artifacts worth billions factor into Adami’s game plan? If you’re going to sell weapons to terrorists, and you want to keep warring factions at each others’ throats to inflate your prices, then it seems to me possession of these artifacts would up his ante.”
“You both are missing the point,” Francesca said. “I am not talking about the gold, precious stones, or scrolls. I am talking about the Ark of the Covenant that was found by the Templars. Everything documented in the Bible and history beyond proves that wherever the Ark landed, death and destruction followed. I am talking about what might have been contained in the Ark, or possibly hidden along with it. The deadly plagues. The biblical plagues that Moses brought onto the land at God’s behest.”
Griffin and Sydney stared in disbelief. Even Giustino looked up from the monitors, waiting for an explanation.
“Surely,” Francesca said, “you didn’t think Adami was in this strictly for the advancement of art or religion or academia?”
That was the farthest from Griffin’s mind. Carlo Adami, an arms dealer and secret intelligence broker, was first and foremost a master manipulator, willing to sell out to the highest bidder, no matter what country was involved. He was loyal only to himself. The man craved power, and anyone who held important religious artifacts would wield a lot of power, stirring up radicals into a bloodlust over territories and beliefs. And if those religious artifacts contained something that could be used as a bioweapon? Was it even possible? “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Carlo Adami was funding the study for the search. My friend was the recipient of the grant and gave periodic reports to him, unaware, I’m sure, as to what his true motive was. Regardless, several years ago, this friend of mine, a biblical archeologist, came across some papers in the Vatican archives detailing information about a map leading to the Ark of the Covenant, a map held by the Ark’s guardians, the Templar Knights, papers he is certain were misfiled and not meant for public view. And therein lies the problem.” Francesca leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “The Vatican was not very forthcoming when he tried to research further, and the documents he’d been researching were promptly removed. Some scholars insist that this third key is merely legend. No map, no gold, no artifacts, nothing at all. They think that the entire concept was invented by di Sangro as a ruse to anger the Vatican in revenge for ruining his name, and to keep them from finding the treasure.”
And here was that di Sangro prince again. “What do you believe?”
“You were with me when I found the first key in the very columbarium that I know for a fact was searched and ransacked before, including by the Vatican in the 1700s. They were searching for the first key back then. How can I not believe?”
Griffin pushed his chair back, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “How do you know that what you found in the columbarium was the first key, if you found no second key at the crypt? And why is it so important?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
“Di Sangro ensured that without all three keys, if someone tries to remove this map, that person will be killed.”
“This has something to do with a so-called curse at the tomb of the Valley of the Kings?” Griffin asked, thinking of what Tasha had told him when she’d first returned from the dig in Egypt.
“That’s a separate curse entirely, and, as most of the Egyptian curses go, a fable to ward off grave robbers. What di Sangro constructed in his own crypt is no curse. It will kill you.”
“What was di Sangro’s motive?”
“Familial duty. The city of San Severo, his birthright, was owned by the Knights Templar. Add to that that di Sangro was the first Grand Master of the Freemasons in Naples in the 1700s, it explains why some scholars believe he was also an appointed guardian of part of the Templar treasure.”
“Why waste time searching through these long-forgotten chambers of death for keys that may or may not exist? What’s to prevent someone from just going in and taking the damned map?”
“According to my research, historians believe he constructed his crypt to fall upon itself if anything is moved without benefit of the three keys.”
“And you believe this?”
“Di Sangro was considered the Leonardo da Vinci of the eighteenth century, and his job was to ensure that this map did not fall into the wrong hands-which makes perfect sense if, in fact, it does lead to something as deadly as a biblical plague and that plague could be use
d at will to kill one’s enemies. If someone should discover where this map had been hidden, then tried to remove it, death would be imminent.”
“Can we get past the curses and legends?” Griffin asked. “There’s got to be something more substantial.”
Giustino shook his head. “For Americans, legends are difficile to believe, probably because your country is so very young.”
“Giustino?” Griffin said.
“You want me to be silent?”
“Anything,” he said, fast losing his temper, “that will allow her to finish her story in a timely manner.”
“That,” Francesca said, “could take hours. You don’t understand-”
“You don’t understand,” he said, deciding the hell with keeping his cool. “We have less than twenty-four hours. I’ll give you five damned minutes to tell me what is going on.” He looked at his watch.
Francesca bit her lip, and looked around the room, as though trying to decide whether he was serious. No one moved, no one said a word. “I can’t possibly give you any more than a very rudimentary explanation in such a short time.”
“Not a problem,” Sydney said. “He’s a rudimentary kind of guy.”
Griffin made a show of consulting his watch. “You have four minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Fine. As I explained, Raimondo di Sangro, Prince of Sansevero, first Grand Master in Naples, was imprisoned and ordered by the King of Naples and the Vatican to reveal the names of each and every member of the lodge. Their ultimate goal was to learn who was in the inner circle and who might have knowledge of this fabled treasure, which had been hidden by the original Templar guardians when King Philip of France had every Templar in France imprisoned to take control of that treasure in 1307. The Templars went underground and were never heard from again-until the Freemasons emerged in the 1700s.”
“I don’t want a damned history lesson.”
“Then you don’t want the damned map, do you? Now if I might continue?” When he said nothing, she proceeded. “Di Sangro was brought in by the Vatican, questioned about his ties to Freemasonry, and forced to reveal the names of other Masons. Worried that his fellow Masons might give up some of the secrets of the inner circle, di Sangro moved the treasure to a new location, then entrusted the first key to his mentor from the Jesuit school he attended as a boy. Di Sangro gave explicit instructions about how and where the key was to be hidden, and how it should be passed on only to the next guardian. And that is a very, very basic explanation.”
The Bone Chamber Page 28