The Sacred Bones (10 page)

"What do you want?" She pronounced each word clearly.

"I was going to see if you wanted company for dinner tonight. I figured, you're here alone.... I don't see a wedding ring," he added, eyeing her hands. "Maybe you'd like some conversation. That's all."

For a long moment, she just stared at him, unable to process the idea that he was actually hitting on her in St. Peter's Basilica. Suddenly she felt bad for any woman that had been charmed by this character. Handsome-- yes-- but everything else was severely lacking. "I've got a boyfriend and I've already made plans, but thank you." Uncertain as to how much she would need to interact with Conte during the coming days, she tried her best to be polite.

"Some other time, then," he confidently replied.

"Good night." She turned and made her way for the exit.

"Enjoy your evening, Dr. Hennesey.
Buonasera
."

T
EMPLE
M
OUNT

The rising sun cast a faint glow of deep blue and purple over the Mount of Olives as Razak made his way across the Temple Mount esplanade toward the Dome of the Rock Mosque's golden cupola, its crescent-shaped finial delicately pointing toward Mecca.

No matter how many times he visited this place, it always affected him deeply. Here, history and emotion seemed to drip like dew.

In the seventh century, Temple Mount had virtually been forgotten and its bare esplanade was devoid of any great monument. All of its previous architecture had been destroyed many times over. But in 687 AD-- only a few decades after a Muslim army led by Caliph Omar had conquered Jerusalem in 638-- the ninth Caliph, Abd al-Malik, began construction of the Dome of the Rock Mosque as a testament to the site's rebirth-- and Islam's physical claim over the Holy Land.

Throughout the centuries that followed, Islam had periodically lost its hold over the Temple Mount, most notably to Christian Crusaders whose occupation spanned the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But it was once again under Islamic control and the Waqf had been entrusted to enforce and legitimize that role. It wasn't easy, especially in the wake of mounting political instability that threatened Islamic exclusivity to the place-- a privilege that had almost been lost after the Six Day War in 1967.

Razak tried to imagine how it would feel if the political situation had been reversed: Muslims reduced to worshipping a retaining wall with the Jews possessing a shrine on its holiest spot; Jews in occupied territories and the Palestinians in full control.

He scaled a flight of steps to the mosque's raised platform. Outside the entrance, he removed his Sutor Mantellassi loafers, then made his way into the shrine. Hands crossed behind his back, he worked his way around the bloodred carpet of the octagonal ambulatory glancing up at the elaborate inner dome that sat high atop glassy marble columns. Directly beneath the cupola, cordoned by railings, lay a bare stone expanse of Mount Moriah's summit known as "the Rock."

The Rock marked the sacred site where in Biblical times Abraham made to sacrifice his son to God, and where Jacob had dreamed of a ladder to heaven. The Jews proclaimed that a grand Jewish temple built by King Solomon and improved by King Herod once stood here. And the Christians claimed Jesus had visited that same temple many times to preach.

But the site was most significant to Razak and his people for another reason.

In 621, the angel Gabriel had appeared to the great prophet Muhammad in Mecca, presenting him with a winged horse bearing a human face, named Buraq. Embarking on his
Isra
, or "Night Journey," Muhammad was carried by Buraq to the Temple Mount where he was ascended through the heavens in a glorious light to behold Allah and consult with Moses and the great prophets. There, Muhammad was also given the five daily prayers by Allah-- a core event in his ministry known as the
Miraj.

The
Miraj
rendered the Dome of the Rock the third most important religious site in Islam, preceded only by Mecca-- Muhammad's birthplace-- and Medina where, through great struggle and personal sacrifice, he established the Islamic movement.

Razak gazed up at the cupola's exquisite tile work, taking in the Arabic inscriptions flowing round its base.

Outside, the
muezzin
's call echoed from loudspeakers, summoning Muslims to prayer. In front of the mosque's
mihrab
-- the small, arched golden alcove that indicated the direction of Mecca-- Razak eased onto his knees, hands splayed over his thighs and bowed in prayer.

After a few minutes, he stood and circled back round the Rock's enclosure, stopping in front of a stairway entrance to a chamber called the "Well of Souls," where it was said the spirits of the dead convened in prayer. There he envisioned his mother and father shining in the divine light of Allah, awaiting the final Day of Judgment so as to be delivered to
Jannah
-- Allah's eternal garden paradise.

On September 23, 1996, Razak's parents had been killed by two masked gunmen while vacationing on the Jordanian side of the Sea of Galilee. Many had suspected that Israeli intelligence agents-- the
Shin Bet
-- had wrongly targeted his father for purported ties to militant Palestinian groups, but those rumors were later disproven. Although that turned out not to be the case, the killers were never found. Their tragic deaths were a profound loss that had driven-- and still drove-- Razak deeper into his faith for answers. Fortunately, his education at home and abroad had helped him to avoid political and religious fanaticism-- an easy trapping for someone so intimately affected by Israel's lethal politics.

Turning away, his thoughts shifted to the crypt hidden deep beneath his feet, and the mysterious theft that had once again brought bloodshed to this place. When he'd arrived here yesterday afternoon, he had never anticipated that a situation of such gravity would have allied him with a man like Graham Barton.

At the mosque entrance Razak put on his shoes and made his way outside.

He still had a couple more hours until his meeting with Barton. So he strolled down into the Muslim Quarter and had coffee and breakfast at a small cafe on Via Dolorosa. There, he met some old acquaintances and caught up on all that had happened since his last visit. Naturally, the conversation gravitated to the theft, but Razak was quick to point out that he couldn't comment on the investigation.

By nine a.m., there wasn't the slightest breeze as he crossed the Temple Mount esplanade beneath a scorching sun and descended into the Marwani Mosque. Climbing through the blast hole into the crypt, Akbar-- the oversized Muslim guard instructed to watch over Barton-- signaled that everything was fine. Razak nodded and waved him out into the mosque.

Graham Barton was crouched in a corner transcribing an inscription on one of the ossuaries.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton," Razak said in English.

The archaeologist sprung to his feet.

"Looks like you've been busy." Razak eyed the small stacks of rubbings Barton had laid out at intervals along the floor.

"Very much so," Barton replied cheerily. "I got here early and Akbar was kind enough to let me get a head start."

"What have you found out so far?"

"It's an extraordinary discovery. This crypt belonged to a Jewish man named Yosef." Barton pointed to a box on one end, just as plain as the others. "You'll notice that each of these ossuaries is inscribed in Hebrew with the names of his family members."

Unimpressed, Razak sought meaningful information. "Yosef
who
?"

Barton shrugged. "That's the problem with ancient Jews. They weren't terribly specific when it came to names. They rarely used family names, at least for burial purposes. And the Hebrew name 'Yosef' was quite common back then. Anyway, you see that each ossuary is plainly marked."

Razak eyed the inscriptions carved into the sides of the nine boxes.

"Each one says pretty much the same thing: whose remains are contained inside each ossuary. Those are his four daughters," he indicated the cluster sitting at the beginning of the lineup. "Three sons," his motioned to the next three, then to the one beside Yosef's, "plus his loving wife, Sarah." Barton drew a deep breath. "But there's an etching on the back wall of the crypt that provides more detail." Grabbing a flashlight, he motioned for Razak to follow and advanced into the shadowy recess, stopping by the rear wall. The cylinder of light played along the stone. "See that." Barton illuminated a wall-mounted tablet framed with ornate stone trim. "It lists the inventory of ossuaries contained in this chamber."

The Muslim stepped closer. "So the missing ossuary should be listed here." Counting nine lines of text, Razak's eyes were drawn to a deep gouge scarring the polished rock beneath the last line. Confused, he stared at it for a long moment. "I'm only seeing nine entries."

"Correct. And those nine are the names that match the remaining ossuaries. But this entry here," Barton trained the light on the disfigured rock, "probably identified the tenth ossuary." He tapped it with his finger.

Razak studied it critically once more. "Won't do us much good now."

"Agreed. Another dead end."

Razak strolled around the chamber holding out his hands. "Why here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Of all places, why would the crypt be located here?"

He had a good point, Barton thought. "Normally we'd expect crypts to be outside the city walls. But it's certainly possible this site was chosen for security reasons. In fact"-- he paused to formulate the idea-- "in the first century, Antonia Fortress, the Roman garrison, was situated adjacent to the northern wall of Temple Mount. The esplanade above us"-- he pointed up-- "would have been a very public area-- all sorts of activities going on. Raised portico walkways ran all along the perimeter of the platform and looped around to the garrison. The Roman centurions would pace up and down to police the crowds, ready to quell any disturbances."

Barton refrained from explaining that, in the first century, the primary reason for the Temple Mount's popularity was the grand Jewish temple that once stood in place of the Dome of the Rock Mosque-- a claim that the Waqf had systematically denied for centuries in order to secure its hold over the site. Since no archaeological evidence supported the scriptural reference to the temple, their position had remained strong.

"And what do Roman centurions have to do with this crypt?"

"Everything. Remember, in ancient times there were no safes or lockboxes. That's why plundering was the easiest way to get rich. Assets were vulnerable."

Razak was eyeing Barton intently. "The only way to protect treasures or valuables was with an army?"

"Correct."

"Then perhaps the tenth ossuary didn't contain human remains. Could it have protected some kind of treasure?"

"It's plausible."

"Certainly more believable than human remains," Razak continued. "I'm not seeing why anyone would go through such great trouble to steal bones."

Barton could sense that Razak was pleased with his own reasoning and in the absence of further evidence, he wasn't about to challenge the idea. "As far as I can see," he added, "it's impossible to draw conclusions as to what the stolen ossuary may actually have contained. But inside these remaining nine boxes," he gestured toward the ossuaries, "we may find some more clues." He handed Razak a pair of rubber gloves. "Which is why you'll need these."

A horrified look came over the Muslim.

V
ATICAN
C
ITY

The two scientists convened in the lab at eight a.m., both heading directly to the rear break room where Giovanni Bersei was instructing Charlotte Hennesey on how to use what he considered to be the lab's most vital piece of equipment-- the Gaggia automatic coffee machine, which pumped out customized brew at the touch of a button.

"Tell me. How was your visit to the basilica last night?"

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a quick summary that ended with her retelling of an unpleasant encounter with Salvatore Conte. She told him that it had disturbed her so much she'd decided to skip going out all together. Having settled for a tuna sandwich from the Domus's cafeteria, she'd turned in early. Not the most exciting night, she admitted, though she was happy to have caught up on her sleep. "And how did your wife's osso bucco turn out?"

He made a sour face. "Not so good. Carmela is many things, but a good cook is not one of them. In fact, she may be the worst cook in all Italy."

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. "You're terrible, Giovanni. I hope you didn't tell her that."

"Are you crazy? I value my life."

They both laughed.

Bersei checked his watch. "Ready to begin?"

"Let's do it."

Refilling their cups, they moved back into the main room and stood at the workstation, both donning lab coats. The ossuary, with its mysterious skeleton, was just as they had left it yesterday.

Bersei handed Charlotte a new mask and latex gloves and she put them on. He did the same.

Staring at the bones, Charlotte half expected a hand to pop out holding an hourglass.

After putting on his own mask and gloves, Bersei retrieved a Canon EOS digital camera, turned it on, snapped some pictures, then set it down.

Positioned on opposing sides of the workstation, the scientists began removing the bones one piece at a time, carefully placing them onto the rubber matting. Slowly the reassembled skeletal frame came together: the longer bones of the legs and arms, the pelvis and loose bundles of ribs, the segments of spinal vertebrae, and finally the delicate, complex bones of the hands and feet.

With infinite care, Charlotte lifted the skull from the ossuary. Supporting the mandible with one hand and the orb of cranium with the other, she placed it at the end of the completed skeleton.

Bersei performed a quick visual inspection. "Looks like all two hundred and six bones are here." He grabbed the Canon and snapped a few more shots of the completed skeleton.