“And you are pretty confident the Shroud you have produced will make your point that the Shroud could have been a fake.”
“In my opinion, the Shroud has to be a fake,” Gabrielli said strongly, “and I believe I’m well on my way to proving how a brilliant medieval forger could have made a fortune pulling it off.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Monday evening
Beth Israel Hospital
Day 19
At Beth Israel, Dr. Castle met with Dr. Constance Lin in her office to go over Father Bartholomew’s most recent CT scans and MRIs.
“It’s pretty much the same story,” Dr. Lin said. “All the old wounds opened up again—the stigmata in the wrists and the scourge wounds all over the body. Then we have the new wounds, the stigmata in the feet and the head puncture wounds that would be from the crown of thorns.”
“Do the stigmata on the feet pierce completely through the feet?” Castle asked.
“Again, it could be that the wounds penetrated the feet when they were first made,” Lin answered. “But I took these CT scans and MRIs only a few hours ago, and the stigmata wounds on the feet are healing nicely and the stigmata in the hands appear almost completely healed.”
“How about the puncture wounds on the head?”
“Same scenario. The puncture wounds are healing, maybe a little slower than the scourge wounds. But the bleeding in all the wounds has stopped. Father Bartholomew is recovering once again in record time and I have no explanation for you on how or why it’s happening.”
Castle understood. “This is pretty much what I expected to see.”
“At least, it’s about the same as we saw before,” Lin said. “Father Bartholomew will probably suffer no permanent disabilities from these wounds, though wounds of this severity would have killed most people when they were first inflicted.”
“I know,” Castle said. “Believers worldwide consider Father Bartholomew’s case to be a miracle.”
“What do you think?”
“About the same as I always thought,” Castle said without emotion. “Father Bartholomew’s subconscious is particularly strong.”
Visiting the priest, Castle found him awake, in the company of Anne and Father Morelli.
“I suppose you’ve heard we’re going to the Vatican?” Castle asked Father Bartholomew.
“Archbishop Duncan called me a few minutes ago and let me know,” the priest said.
“We will leave tomorrow evening and we’ll fly all night. We’ll arrive Wednesday morning.”
“Am I going to be okay to make the trip?” the priest asked.
Castle reassured him. “The Vatican is sending a charter airplane with hospital-like medical facilities aboard. You’ll be fine.”
During the limo ride back to his Fifth Avenue apartment, Castle called his favorite hotel in Rome, the Hassler in the Piazza della Trinitá at the top of the Spanish Steps, and reserved two suites, one for himself and the other for Anne. He still wanted to keep Anne close at hand, both so he could keep an eye on her and so he could immediately get any additional insights she might have about her brother.
Father Bartholomew was to stay under Vatican care in Agostino Gemelli University Polyclinic. The hospital, known in Rome as the official hospital of the popes, kept a suite of rooms permanently reserved for the pope or top Vatican patients. Father Middagh would be put up in the Vatican’s visiting priests’ quarters and Father Morelli would return home to the private apartment he maintained year-round in Rome.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tuesday evening
Flight from JFK Airport, New York,
to Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport in Rome
Day 20
Dr. Castle and Anne took the psychiatrist’s limo to the airport, following behind the ambulance that carried Father Bartholomew.
Castle was impressed by the police escort, which shortened the trip from Beth Israel in midtown Manhattan to JFK to around thirty-five minutes, despite late afternoon traffic.
Arriving at the international terminal for private passengers, Castle could see that the private jet sent by the pope was the customized Boeing 767 that Alitalia kept reserved for heads of state, including the pope. The customized interior included ample first-class seats, a conference room for meetings, several private sleeping quarters for VIPs, and an infirmary in the rear. Among the crew were a medical crew from the Vatican, including two nurses and a physician.
Once Fathers Morelli and Middagh were on board, together with Fernando Ferrar and his three-man video crew, the pilot was ready to take off. Leaving JFK at around 6 P.M. Tuesday, their estimated time of arrival was early morning Wednesday in Rome. They would gain six hours in the time zone changes involved in going to Italy, making the night a short one, despite a cross-Atlantic air trip of some 4,260 miles.
On the flight over, Dr. Castle did his best to make himself scarce. The Alitalia crew served a multicourse dinner, complete with excellent Italian wines.
Still, Fernando Ferrar managed to get him alone as they were finishing the meal with an assortment of fine cheeses and after-dinner drinks.
“I understand you cannot talk to me about Father Bartholomew because that would violate doctor-patient confidential privileges,” Ferrar began. “But could you answer me one question?”
“What’s that?” Castle asked, hoping one question had to be harmless. Besides, he could always decline to answer.
“You have all the money in the world, so you don’t need to take Father Bartholomew’s case for the money. What is it, then? Why are you interested?”
“Don’t necessarily assume money isn’t important,” Castle said, correcting him.
“Okay,” Ferrar said. “I concede the point.”
“But to answer your question, I guess what drives me is the people. I’ve worked with Archbishop Duncan and Pope John-Paul Peter I before, when he was a cardinal. They asked me to take on this case and I guess I couldn’t refuse.”
“Why not? I doubt you take every case you’re asked to take.”
“You’re right,” Castle conceded. “But let me ask you. Why did you take up this story? You’re obviously ambitious, but is that the extent of why?”
“Maybe,” Ferrar answered. “Is there anything wrong with being ambitious?”
“No, not necessarily. But there’s lots of stories out there. Why this one?”
“In my case, I’m intrigued,” Ferrar said. “I was raised Catholic in Puerto Rico. The Shroud is fascinating to me and you have to admit, Father Bartholomew is a good story.”
“Yes, he is,” Castle said. “But what if it turns out all this is a fraud, or that Father Bartholomew is just mentally ill? Will you report that?”
Ferrar thought for a minute. “It would be a lot less interesting story,” he finally said. “I guess I would report it, but who would care? People want to believe in God. They want to believe in miracles.”
“I know,” Castle said, moving in for the kill. “I would even go so far as to say people need to believe. But that is not my question. My question is about you. Do you want to believe? Is that why you’re doing the story? Is it because you want the Shroud to be the burial cloth of Christ and you want Father Bartholomew to be a miracle man?”
Again, Ferrar thought before he answered. “I see where you’re headed. You’re a smart guy and I don’t want to fall into your trap. Let me answer you this way: To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure about the Shroud, or about Bartholomew. But what I know is this—I’m covering the story because there is a good chance it’s all true. Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
“And from my point of view, it’s just the opposite,” Castle countered. “I took on Father Bartholomew as a patient because there’s a good chance it’s all false. Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thursday morning
Bologna, Italy
Day 22
The eight passengers—Dr. Cast
le and Anne Cassidy, Fathers Morelli and Middagh, Fernando Ferrar and his three-man crew—fit comfortably in the eight-seat, two-engine Citation XLS the Vatican had chartered for the forty-seven-minute flight from Rome to Bologna.
Two limos picked up the passengers at the airport and transported them to the University of Bologna, where chemistry professor Marco Gabrielli was preparing for the press conference of his life.
When Castle and Anne walked into the auditorium-style conference room with its tiers of raised seats, Gabrielli was backstage, carefully going over his notes one last time. Castle counted some fifty correspondents who were present, including Reuters from Great Britain, the Associated Press from the United States, and Agence France-Presse. Italian journalists sat in the front row behind name cards reserved for Corriere della Sera in Milan, La Repubblica from Rome, and La Stampa from Turin, among others. Video cameras from RAI in Italy and TV5 in France were prominent among the European television crews set up in the back row of the stylish facility. Quietly, the American video crew set up their camera among the others in the back of the room, as Fernando Ferrar positioned himself alone, in the center of the auditorium. Fathers Morelli and Middagh sat in the row behind Dr. Castle and Anne Cassidy, off to the side of the auditorium.
Each auditorium seat came equipped with earphones. A dial built into the desk allowed the occupant to select one of four languages: Italian, French, English, and German. Behind a glass panel off to the side of the room, opposite where Dr. Castle and the others sat, were four translators ready to do a simultaneous broadcast to the conference participants.
At precisely 11:30 A.M. local time, Dr. Gabrielli stepped to the podium, flanked by two assistants in lab coats. Behind each assistant was an easel with the display boards covered by a white cloth. He looked dapper in his finely tailored beige cashmere sport coat and black turtleneck sweater. For once, his freshly cut and nicely combed black hair was a good match for his closely trimmed Van Dyke beard. From the way he was dressed and groomed, Castle judged Gabrielli was at the top of his game. The impression was reinforced the minute Gabrielli stepped to the podium. As he surveyed the audience, Gabrielli’s trademark wry smile and his darting green eyes gave the impression that he was indeed the cat who had caught the mouse.
“Good morning,” Gabrielli began confidently. “Welcome to the University of Bologna. I am Dr. Marco Gabrielli, senior professor of chemistry here. My complete academic resumé will be provided to you in the press packets we will hand out at the end of the session. We will take questions at the end of my short presentation.”
Looking out at the audience, Gabrielli was pleased to see Dr. Castle in attendance. Almost imperceptibly, Gabrielli nodded recognition to his friend and associate in the audience.
“My expertise at the University of Bologna has in recent years been extended to exposing frauds in a wide range of paranormal phenomena, including supposed miracles involving a variety of statues of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and various saints that have been claimed to be crying tears of blood, to an exposition of the chemistry by which religious mystics have been able to self-produce the illusion of the stigmata, the nail wounds of Christ’s crucifixion appearing typically on their wrists.”
Having given more than one press conference in his career, Gabrielli planned to cut to the chase.
“Today I am here to announce that I have successfully reproduced the Shroud of Turin using only materials and methods known to be available to medieval forgers who were working in the period between 1260 and 1390 A.D., the dates the carbon-14 tests done on the Shroud have established for its date of creation.”
At Gabrielli’s instruction, his first assistant removed the cloth from the first easel, exposing a life-size photograph of the frontal image of the crucified man depicted in the Shroud of Turin. “This, as you see, is the original Shroud of Turin. This image is a life-size photographic negative that shows the crucified man’s features in white highlights.”
At his instruction, the second assistant removed the cloth from the second easel, showing for the first time Gabrielli’s life-size reproduction of the Shroud on a modern strip of linen made, under Gabrielli’s direction, to match the Shroud of Turin’s exact weave pattern and size. When the image was exposed, even the jaded members of the press seemed to let out an audible gasp. The first impression of everyone in the room was that Gabrielli had done it. His reproduction was startling in how much it looked exactly like the original, down to the beard and mustache of the crucified man, the scourge marks visible on the body, and the nail wounds seen in the man’s wrists and feet.
“I’d like you to meet my model,” Gabrielli said, motioning to the back door of the auditorium.
Out stepped a handsome, bearded man in his early thirties, wearing a long, flowing white robe designed to enhance the effect.
“This is one of my senior graduate students,” the professor said. “Roberto d’Agostini.”
Everyone in the room was instantly impressed by how much d’Agostini looked like an icon of Jesus Christ that had stepped right out of the Shroud itself. Even Castle was impressed. D’Agostini had the same square face and beard with a forked opening in the middle, the same long hair that drooped to his shoulders and trailed into a ponytail that stretched down his back to his waist. He had the same long, elegant fingers as the man in the Shroud of Turin. Even their ages seemed similar. D’Agostini appeared to be in his early thirties and Christ, according to tradition, was thirty-three years old when he was crucified.
But truthfully Castle wasn’t sure whether d’Agostini or Father Bartholomew had done a better job in making themselves look like the man in a Shroud, so he guessed it was a toss-up. If d’Agostini looked somewhat younger than the man in the Shroud of Turin, Father Bartholomew in his early forties looked somewhat older. That was the only significant difference Castle could discern.
“While I can assure you that Signore d’Agostini’s beard and mustache are authentic, there was no reason for him to appear nude today,” Gabrielli said. “The wounds you see in my shroud were painted on his body, based on a detailed analysis of the wounds we see in the Shroud of Turin. We transferred the body image to the linen cloth of the Shroud duplicate by a series of carefully designed rubbing methods and exposure to ambient light.”
D’Agostini gathered up his robe and took a chair to the side of Dr. Gabrielli. Sitting quietly, he looked every bit as composed and serene as did the man in the Shroud.
“While the press packet will give you a more complete description of my methodology, let me simply say that I used red ochre and vermilion paints, common coloring materials available to medieval artists. I followed, among others, the scientific conclusions of Dr. Walter McCrone, the American chemist and leading expert in microscopy who was a member of the team of scientists allowed by the Vatican to examine the Shroud over a five-day period as part of the 1978 Shroud of Turin Research Project. To produce the image on my Shroud, we treated the Shroud with a light-sensitive coating made from a proprietary mixture of egg albumin and various plant extracts. The primary paint I used was an iron oxide formula commonly known as red ochre, which I supplemented for detailed painting with a mercuric sulfide mixture known in the Middle Ages as vermilion. I produced the final result by exposing the finished product to various heat treatments in a specially designed industrial ceramic furnace. I would remind believers that the Shroud of Turin does not show substantial traces of iron oxide or mercuric sulfide today because the paint pigments on the original Shroud faded away over the centuries.”
The video cameras at the back zoomed in for close-ups of both shrouds, as the reporters at their desks furiously made notes.
“In conclusion,” Gabrielli said, “please realize that this is only my first effort. My goal today was simply to demonstrate to you that materials and techniques commonly available to medieval artists were more than sufficient for a skilled and brilliant forger to have produced the Shroud of Turin in his studio. I think you will agree that the sh
roud duplicate that you see before you has fundamentally the same characteristics you see in the original Shroud of Turin. My goal is to dispel the myth that the Shroud of Turin displays unexplainable features that could not be produced by human hands. I believe you will agree with me that the shroud duplicate I have produced in the last few weeks goes a long way to proving that the Shroud of Turin is no more authentic than religious statues claimed to bleed real blood.”
When Gabrielli finished, a flurry of reporters raised their hands to be the first to ask a question.
In politically astute deference to his countrymen, Gabrielli chose an Italian press reporter from the first row to ask the first question. Gabrielli asked the reporter to identify himself before he asked his question.
“I’m Silvio Brunetta from La Repubblica in Rome,” he said as he stood up. “How do you expect the Vatican to react to your shroud?”
Gabrielli chuckled. “Truthfully, I don’t expect any reaction,” he said. “The Vatican has always been cautious not to confirm the Shroud of Turin as the actual burial cloth of Christ. The group that I do expect to go berserk are the scientific members of the Shroud of Turin community around the world who have a vested interest in defending their decades of research trying to prove the Shroud is real, despite the carbon-14 evidence to the contrary.”
A second questioner introduced himself. “I’m Vittorio Graviano with Corriere della Sera in Milan. I see on your shroud that you even duplicated the burn holes and water damage we see on the original Shroud. Can you tell us how you added these effects?”
“Certainly,” Gabrielli answered. “As I said, I wanted my shroud to look as much as possible like the original Shroud. So, after we placed the image of Signore d’Agostini on the cloth, we scorched the cloth and soaked it with water, to duplicate as much as possible the patterns of damage you see on the original. To finalize the results, I added blood and blood serum to the image, in the exact areas we see bloodstains on the original. To be authentic, I used human blood.”
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