"It would be best for us to let him rest now," the nurse said. "You'll be able to come back later." She gently tugged on Michelle's arm and kept the trained smile in place.
Michelle walked out of the room and down the hall at a slow, unsteady pace. Many times, she had heard Jack explain to groups that through redemptive suffering, healing could come to the brokenness of the world. He had passionately believed that undeserved pain resulting from the pursuit of good released the power to change the destructive potential of evil situations. Certainly, they had been in just such a violent predicament. Michelle could only hope Jack's ideas were true and good would come out of this horrid mess they were in. Without question, Jack had been plunged into dire straits for no reason other than he was trying to make something positive happen.
But whatever she had hoped for today hadn't happened yet. Jack had come out of the coma and that was important, but if he didn't remember her, he certainly wouldn't remember anything about their work. If his memory did return fully, it would take considerable time before he was fully functional. As the realization sunk in, it seemed as if the autumn had suddenly turned to winter. She had to make him remember her.
Klaus Burchel stood in the shadows across the street from the hospital, watching the front door. During the days that had passed since he first watched the Townsend's office on Via Vittoria Veneto, enough of his hair had grown back that he no longer had a bald-headed appearance, but the scar on his cheek remained. If Michelle Townsend had caught a glimpse of him earlier, he might look somewhat different now.
The Townsend woman came out of the hospital and walked to the street curb where she hailed a cab. Burchel watched her and wondered if anything had improved with her old man. She sped away in a battered clunker with taxi painted on the door. Burchel hurried across the street and into the hospital. By this time, he knew exactly where Jack Townsend's room would be found. Stein would want an update, and the best way to get it was to look in the room. He slowed as he came closer to the door. A nurse stood outside making a notation on a metal covered chart.
"Excuse me," Burchel said. "I'm a friend of Dr. Townsend. How's he doing?"
"Oh, much better," the nurse said. "He's awake for the first time. We're making progress."
"Wonderful!" Burchel said. "Glad to hear it."
Klaus kept walking. Not good news at all. Stein would want to know about this turn of events immediately.
33
Michelle had awakened often throughout the night, worrying about Jack and praying that Dov had left this world in good stead for his heavenly journey. Dozing off again, the remembrance of a street in the town of Cerignola flooded her mind. Once more, she could see a gasoline truck coming straight toward her. The terror of an imminent collision shook her body. She awoke with perspiration dotting her forehead. Hours passed before she could make herself go back to sleep. Each time old images of destruction returned, and she had to fight them off.
When morning came, Michelle felt like a wrung-out dishrag. She had to shake off fatigue and push herself to get dressed. The trip back to the hospital took forever in the raging morning traffic, but no matter what the obstacles, she needed to be there as quickly as possible. She had to make sure Jack had progressed as the nurse had predicted.
Most of the hospital's regular floor staff knew her and nodded pleasantly as she passed. Michelle appreciated their warmth and reminded herself that no matter what happened, she mustn't allow her churning inner emotional fears to conquer. She had to stop these flashes from the past and keep them from destroying her concentration. Michelle picked up the pace and pushed Jack's door open.
To her surprise, a man was already sitting in the chair, trying to talk to Jack. The diamond merchant Tony Mattei had beaten her to the hospital
"Ah, Signor Mattei!" Michelle said. "How unexpected."
Mattei was on his feet instantly. "I have been dilatory in visiting my injured friend. I see that your husband is awake this morning. Most positive."
"Yes. He's talking to you?"
"Doesn't seem to recognize me, but I am offering him good cheer." Mattei immediately backed toward the door. "Now that you are here, I leave him in your care." He bowed at the waist. "Good to see you, my dear. Yes, good indeed." Tony Mattei disappeared through the door.
Perplexed by his rapid departure, Michelle turned to her husband. "Jack? Jack? Are you awake?"
Jack blinked several times. "Where . . . where am I?"
"You're in the hospital."
"Yes . . . yes . . . the hospital."
"Do you know me?"
Jack stared at her for a moment. "You're my wife. Michelle."
She wanted to shout for joy. If nothing else, he remembered her. Thank God for that discovery. Michelle grabbed his hand.
"My arm . . . I can't move it."
"Yes," she said. "You received a severe injury in the explosion. Your arm is in a plaster cast."
"I don't remember any explosion," Jack said. "When did that happen?"
"Several weeks ago."
"I don't recall anything about an explosion. No, nothing."
"You and Dov were in our offices when it occurred."
"Dov? Who is Dov?"
"You don't remember our associate Dov Sharon?"
"The name is familiar. Was he a friend?"
"A good friend," Michelle said.
"Oh . . . oh."
"You and Dov were working on finding a lost book from the first century, The Prologue of James. Remember that quest?"
Jack shook his head. "No. I do recall that we were searching for the original ending to Mark's Gospel. Right?"
"Definitely."
Jack laid his head back on the pillow. "So much seems vague, miles away. I can't seem to get my hands around it." He sat up again. "Yes, you are my Michelle. My wife. I love you very much."
"Oh, Jack, those are the sweetest words that I've heard in ten years." Michelle kissed him. "Oh, yes. I love you passionately."
Jack laid back on the pillow and closed his eyes. "So hard to remember." He fell asleep again.
Michelle sat next to the bed holding his good hand firmly for what seemed like an hour. Finally the door opened behind her and Guido Valentino tiptoed in.
"Any improvement?" Guido whispered.
"Much," Michelle said in her normal voice. "Yes, some of Jack's memory has returned. I am highly encouraged."
"Good," Guido said. "Excellent."
Jack stirred and opened his eyes. "You are the doctor?"
"No, no. Remember me? I am Guido Valentino. I work with you on the project on Mark's Gospel."
Jack stared blankly and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't, but there is so much I can't seem to recall. All I remember is working on finding the ending to Mark's Gospel," his voice trailed away. "Trying to find an ending . . ."
"You are much better," Guido said. "Yes, we are going forward."
"I am sorry that I left so abruptly yesterday," Michelle said. "When news came that there had been a change, I had to get up here at once. That's just the way I'm put together."
"No problem," Guido said, "but you did leave at the most inopportune moment. I was almost about to tell you something important."
"Please forgive me," Michelle said. "I'm afraid any change in Jack's condition takes precedence over everything else."
Jack raised up in bed and looked at Guido again. "Yes. I do vaguely remember your helping me with some translation. Yes, you were demonstrating some characteristics of first-century Koine Greek. Something of that order."
Guido smiled. "My friend, you are making excellent progress. Your sentences are coming together much better. Your mind's starting to work."
"I can't tell you how relieved I am," Michelle said.
"I believe I have come at a fortuitous moment," Guido said. "I actually wanted to talk to both of you. I believe now is the right time."
"You might have to repeat this information to make sure we all get the meaning. I hope Jack is up to i
t."
Guido took a deep breath and began. "My family and I haven't shared this information with anyone for fear of how local citizens might react. My family name could create problems with the Roman Catholic Church, and we don't want any of those issues to erupt. My actual name is Jonas De Lateran."
"Lateran?" Michelle said. "That name came up in our studies." Michelle said.
"Until the 'i' was dropped, our name was Laterani. We are direct descendants of the Plautius Laterani family that extends back to the first century."
"Yes! The Laterani name kept appearing here and there in our search," Michelle said.
"My ancient ancestors owned property that was on the edge of Rome. Eventually this land was sold to Fausta, the wife of Constantine. On that piece of land in A.D. 311 Constantine built the first church in Rome that became the center of Christian life. Not the Vatican, but San Giovanni in Laterano was primary. San Giovanni was Rome's first actual church building. San Giovanni was the original seat of the Pope and remained so until the papacy moved to Avignon in the fourteenth century. Encased in the center of the high altar is a table that is reputed to have been used by St. Peter himself. Needless to say, San Giovanni remains one of the greatest relics of the Christian faith."
"Your family donated that property to the church?" Jack mumbled slowly. "Amazing."
"It was in this edifice that Innocent III met St. Francis in the twelfth century. Yes, obviously my family's history remains consequently."
"And what does this have to do with the ending to Mark's Gospel?" Michelle ask.
Jonas smiled. "That document has been in the hands of my family since the first century."
34
With the coming of November, the nights stretched longer and fewer tourists walked the streets. Sensing that too much time was passing, the leader of The Scorpions had called a meeting in the catacombs beneath the Church of Domine Quo Vadis. Located on the Appia Antica, the ancient Appian Way, the church supposedly stood at the spot where St. Peter was challenged to return to Rome and face crucifixion from Nero. The catacombs beneath the sanctuary remained so extensive, a novice could quickly get lost and disappear. Each of the three men had agreed to arrive thirty minutes apart to avoid notice.
As always, the general showed up last and found his two comrades waiting not far from the entrance to the ancient burial grounds. Each man had on the required black mask.
"I changed our location for tonight's meeting in case anyone picked up any aspect of our trail," the general said in a low gruff voice. "Nothing showed up in the papers about our killing the two Americans. Dropping them in the Mediterranean took care of that, but we can't be too careful."
The other two men nodded.
"Been giving considerable thought to our next attack. How about you? Anything come up?"
"Still thinking about hitting the American Embassy?" the first man asked. "Seeing that thing come down in flames pushes all my buttons."
"Not me," the second answered. "We'd be too exposed at that location. Even though we killed the upstarts from America last time, they had a point. We can't appear to be local amateurs on the prowl or we're dead. An attack on the embassy could make us look bad and wreck everything."
Silence settled over the discussion. The general sat quietly absorbing what he had heard. "I don't like to admit it," he finally said. "But unfortunately, you have a correct view of bombing the American Embassy. They've been hit in other countries and aren't about to let up military coverage here in Rome. With soldiers stationed around with M16s ready to fire, the bombing could well end up being out last attack."
"OK," the first man said. "Then, there's the possibilities with this American egghead Jack Townsend. How about cracking that shell with a few bullets to the brain?"
"Yeah," the general said. "He's out of the coma now. I thought Townsend would die in the explosion, and then I was sure he'd kick it lying up there in that hospital bed, but the guy came out of the bed all alive. Amazing, but the man is still highly vulnerable."
"This reporter Corisini at the Il Messaggero newspaper ran several stories on how Townsend's medical condition is progressing," the second man said. "That keeps the man's name out there where everyone knows he is an American."
"This time we've got to make sure that the public understands we're making these hits to bring down American influence," the general said. "That's the whole point."
"Yeah, we've got to do a more complete job of forcing the government to pay attention to the fact that Americans got their sticky fingers too deep in our economy. Maybe, we should write a manifesto of some sort and stick it on his body."
"I'd go for a letter to the newspaper after it's all over," the other terrorist said. "That Corsini guy would be the perfect recipient. Send him an explanation with the suggestion that they read it at Townsend's funeral."
The two men laughed.
"That's not such a bad idea," the general said. "Apart from the funeral nonsense, we could mail a letter to Il Messaggero laying out all details of our discontent. Townsend's body would demonstrate we mean business. His wife's turned into a real homebody type on the computer, flying around trying to get their show back on the road. We need to hit her as well."
Leaning forward, the general spoke in hushed tones. "Our next target will be the Townsends. The man's got a broken arm in a plaster cast so he's limited in his ability to resist. We'll have to identify the best time and place to hit them. I'll take care of that angle, then one of you will be the shooter or bomber, depending on what works best. Are we agreed?"
The two men nodded.
"Got it then. We're going to kill Jack and Michelle Townsend."
35
The early morning November sun rose with a warm, pleasant glow. By the time Guido Valentino had arrived at the Townsend's apartment, the magazine and newspaper vendors were hard at work on the streets. Children filed by on their way to school and a few privileged women walked their well-groomed dogs down the sidewalk. A gentle wind whistled down the streets, sending scraps of paper swirling along the curbs. As has been the daily fare for three thousand years, another day had begun in Rome.
The threesome sat around the small coffee table in the Townsend's apartment. Michelle handed Guido a cup of coffee and set another cup in front of Jack.
"After your jarring revelation, I don't know what to call you," Michelle said. "Is it Guido or should we call you Jonas De Lateran?"
"Let me first establish an important fact. Do you know that your apartment isn't bugged?"
"The police told us that they did a thorough electronic search of everything around here and assured us that nothing is wired," Jack said. "They are maintaining surveillance of this apartment. I hope we can trust their judgment."
"Good. Please keep calling me Guido Valentino. It is important that I keep my identity a secret. Since we do not know who is behind these attempts on your lives, we must assume something sinister is afoot and some scoundrel could slip by us. I have to protect my own family."
"Of course," Jack said. "We will honor your wishes."
"You have a pack of crazies out there with an intense interest in what you are doing," Guido said. "We can't discount any of them."
Jack nodded his head solemnly.
"The Vatican has a most checkered history of intrigue," Guido said. "Lately we have the sexual abuse scandals in the United States coupled with financial malfeasance from massive bank deals. Of course, we always have the Inquisition lurking in the background with Pope Sixtus IV sending King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella on a rampage chasing the Jews out of Spain. We still have scholars claiming Pope Pius XII did nothing to stop the World War II persecution of the Jews. The latest hot stories connect the mafia with the Vatican and include the claims of murder in the death of Pope Paul VI in 1978. There's a Vatican that you see; there's a Vatican that you don't see."
"I am highly aware of these contradictions," Jack said. "You're suggesting that someone in a robe is coming after us?"
&nbs
p; "I'm only laying out the facts. It's not impossible that the Vatican has someone who's highly upset about your man Dov Sharon searching for The Prologue of James as I've heard you call it. It's enough to send someone after you."
"I still can't remember what Dov told me about where documents are hidden, but I think he did. I get your point, Guido."
"We still got that sweetheart of a gorilla named Albert Stein whom I caught walking through the ruins of your wrecked offices," Guido said. "Think he's incapable of chasing you?"
"Got your point," Michelle said nervously. "I don't like running through the catalog of creeps. Your point is that we keep your name under wraps."
"Yes," Guido said. "I'll go on being no more than your assistant Guido Valentino."
"The issue is settled," Jack said lowering his voice. "Let's start discussing what it means that your family had the original ending to Mark's Gospel. You didn't finish the story."
Guido took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. "Saint John in Lateran is the oldest and ranks first among the four great patriarchal basilicas of Rome. The Laterani family occupied the site in ancient times. Sextius Laterani was the first plebian to attain the rank of consul. However, during the reign of Nero, Plautius Laterani was accused of conspiracy against the emperor and his goods were confiscated. We believe it had to do with Plautius hiding the lost portion of the Gospel of Mark, but we can't be for sure. We do know the Laterani family never gave up the document."
"Fascinating," Michelle said. "That fits with why the Laterani name kept popping up in our research to find the original ending to Mark."
"The original church that Constantine built carried the name Basilica Salvatorius, which was later changed to St. John because of a Benedictine monastery of St. John the Baptist and St. John the Evangelist which adjoined the basilica," Guido explained. "Through the centuries donations by popes and benefactors turned the church into a place of splendor, and it was called for a time Basilica Aurea or the Golden Church. Consequently, when the Vandals attacked Rome, they stripped the church of its splendor. The church had to be rebuilt several times through subsequent centuries. The current edifice has a somewhat tasteless appearance. It was rebuilt by Innocent X after the Avignon captivity of the papacy in France. When the pope returned, the city was nearly deserted and the church left in ruins. Nevertheless, the ancient apse with fourth-century mosaics survived all those assaults until late 1878 when the apse was destroyed to enlarge the area around it. However, the mosaics remained and are still in the church."
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