The Sacred Bones (18 page)

"You have a good evening, Giovanni. Thanks again for lunch."

"You're welcome. And try and get some sleep tonight, eh? I don't want you getting sick on me."

Too late for that, she thought. She smiled and waved.

"
Ciao
."

As the door closed behind him, just for a moment, Charlotte Hennesey envied him.

When she finished preparing the packages, she buzzed the intercom for Father Donovan. He responded almost immediately, as if he knew she was still in the lab.

"Good evening, Dr. Hennesey. What can I do for you?"

She told him about the packages and he assured her that if she left them in the lab, he would have the courier handle both. She also confirmed with him that sending the overnight DHL package was okay, despite the hefty cost for overseas delivery.

Once the business issues were resolved, he asked her, "Are you going into Rome tonight?"

"It is a beautiful evening. I thought I'd take a walk and get dinner somewhere."

"If you don't mind splurging a bit, I could give you a recommendation for a superb restaurant."

"Sure. That would be great. You know what they say-- when in Rome..."

As Charlotte exited the Vatican Museum through the upstairs service door, the early evening sun was still warm. She'd decided that her khakis and blouse were good enough not to have to trail all the way back to her room to change. Besides, she had to adhere to the Vatican's strict dress code or she wouldn't be allowed back in. That didn't leave many other wardrobe options.

She ambled along the walkway between the towering northern city wall and the Vatican Museum's severe edifice and headed down to the Sant' Anna Gate and was cleared by the Swiss Guards to leave the premises.

Father Donovan had indicated that the restaurant didn't open until seven-thirty. Unlike the States, Italians preferred to eat dinner late, he reminded her. With an hour to kill, Charlotte stayed close by, but enjoyed walking the side streets, venturing over to the Tiber River, taking in the richness that was Rome.

Awhile later, following Donovan's directions, Charlotte zigzagged back to the imposing six-story facade of the Hotel Atlante Star. She saw the sign indicating the hotel's
Les Etoiles
restaurant. Already she felt underdressed. Entering the foyer, she rode an elevator to the top floor.

As soon as the doors opened, she was greeted by the maitre d'. He was a young man and elegantly dressed-- perhaps in his mid-thirties she guessed-- with dark features and thick black hair.

"
Signora Hennesey...Buona sera! Come sta
?" He switched to English. "Father Donovan called ahead. I was expecting you."

"
Buona sera
," she said, peering into the restaurant.

"My name is Alfonso," he bowed slightly. "Please follow me, Signora. You have a reserved table on the rooftop."

She was guided through the dining room and up a staircase that led onto a terrace adorned with a sea of colorful flowers. Alfonso stopped in front of a small table by the railing.

Rome's skyline left her momentarily breathless. The huge dome of St. Peter's Basilica sat only a short distance away behind the eastern walls of the Vatican Museum. On the opposite side she spotted the curved edifice of Castel Sant' Angelo. Across the Tiber lay the old city marked by the domed Pantheon.

Charlotte was helped into her chair. A white linen napkin was plucked from her plate and draped across her lap.

"If there is anything you need, Signora Hennesey, please don't hesitate."

"
Grazie.
"

A sommelier silently appeared and presented her with an intimidating leather-bound wine list.

Through all the activity, discovery, and suspense of the day, Charlotte realized that she'd barely had a moment to take stock. Suddenly she felt almost lonely. Or did she? Wasn't everything perfect? She stared out across the river-- she couldn't have asked for a more idyllic setting.

But she knew everything wasn't perfect.

The wine waiter was back at her side and she ordered a half bottle of
Brunello di Montalcino
. Alcohol wasn't advised, but this evening she wasn't going to deny herself.

The sound of scooters echoed up from the street below.

When the sommelier returned, he went about his wine presentation, showing the label, then opening the bottle and having Charlotte give it the sniff test. Finally, he poured some into a glass and asked her to taste it. She sloshed it around the glass, more for show, knowing that the medication she'd been taking would give the wine a slight metallic aftertaste no matter how refined its vintage.

When he left, her thoughts settled into their own direction, leading her back to Evan Aldrich. She reminded herself that making any long-term emotional commitment to him would be irresponsible. Yet, the doctors had told her that research was advancing all the time. Answers would soon be found. But how soon was soon?

And what about kids? At thirty-two she was already feeling the pressure that she might never have any of her own. Having researched later, more aggressive treatments that might include bortezomib injections-- known to cause birth defects in unborn children-- her anxiety had only deepened, knowing that might well be an unattainable dream.

She cast her eyes idly over the neighboring tables. Happy-looking couples, a laughing family to her right. Maybe they weren't happy at all. Appearances rarely told the whole truth-- she knew that better than anyone. Oddly, it made her think about Salvatore Conte and Father Patrick Donovan. What was their story? How had a box of bones brought such a mismatched pair together?

She thought about the bone sample sent to Ciardini-- how it would be incinerated during the carbon dating test to determine its age.

Bone being destroyed
.

"Has Signora decided?" It was Alfonso.

"I'm glad you're here. I need your help."

Despite the fact that the restaurant had a name Charlotte swore was French, its menu featured Italian cuisine. After a few quick questions about her likes and dislikes, Alfonso steered her to a Sorrento scialatielli-- "sumptuous homemade pasta with creamy Alfredo seafood sauce full of lobster and crab. Absolutely delightful."

From the first bite of her pasta, she knew he was right on target. Addicted to the Food Network channel, Charlotte was a huge fan of Rachel Ray's
30 Minute Meals.
She wished the peppy half-Italian host could be here now to enjoy this with her-- it was simply delicious. She'd finally found something that had awakened her pill-muted taste buds.

Eating pasta, drinking wine, surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers, and looking out over the city that had practically molded Western culture succeeded in bringing Charlotte's mind to another place. After she had finished eating, she just sat and took it all in for another hour. Content. Happy.

When the hefty bill came, she was sure to pay with her corporate American Express card-- restitution for last night's tuna sandwich.

Outside the hotel, she ambled back along Via Vitelleschi toward the rugged edifice of Castel Sant' Angelo. Continuing around the castle's perimeter, she saw the Tiber come into view. Crossing busy Lungo Castello, she strode onto the Ponte Sant' Angelo, which spanned the river in five elegant arches.

Rome could boast so much history and culture, she thought. Even this bridge was a sublime work of art, and in its own way the Vatican had helped make it all possible. Admiring Bernini's marble angels posted along the bridge, her gaze was immediately drawn to one that was cradling a huge crucifix. A day ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now she would never be able to look at a cross in the same way ever again. Such an utterly normal object, almost prosaic-- but now it seemed gruesome. And the fact that they happened to be everywhere if you looked hard enough was not helping matters.

The one thing she failed to notice was that a comfortable distance behind her, Salvatore Conte was watching her from the shadows of the castle wall.

J
ERUSALEM

Sipping
qahwa
, Razak sat on the veranda of his apartment in the Muslim Quarter overlooking the Temple Mount and its Western Wall Plaza. Throngs of protestors had been gathered since sunrise and now he could see news crews from around the world queuing to get past the police cordons.

Tuned to
Al-Jazeera
, the volume on Razak's TV was set low, providing a quiet buzz in the background. The mood in Jerusalem was tense, and even worse in Gaza's Palestinian settlements where mobs of young men were already engaging in low-level
intifadas,
challenging police with stones. Armored vehicles were now posted at all Israeli checkpoints, as well as the main gates to Old Jerusalem. The IDF had doubled its border patrols.

People were demanding answers, needing someone to blame. Israel was gearing up its defense, ready for yet another confrontation. Hamas was issuing statements, smearing the Israeli authorities.

Razak tried to focus on formulating a plan for diffusing the tension, at least temporarily. Damage control. Sometimes the problems of this place seemed intractable and the sensitive history surrounding the heart of Jerusalem's thirty-five-acre shrine embodied them.

The mobile phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry to bother you. It's Graham Barton."

It took him a moment to recall he'd voluntarily given the archaeologist his business card. "What can I do for you?"

"I've got the transcription back on that scroll we found."

"What does it say?"

"Something astounding," Barton promised. "But not something we should discuss over the telephone. Can you meet me to go over this?"

"Of course." It was hard for Razak to deny the upbeat archaeologist's infectious enthusiasm. "When?"

"How about noon at
Abu Shukri
on El-Wad Road? Do you know where that is?"

Razak glanced at his watch. "Yes, I've been there many times. I will see you at noon." Maybe, thought Razak, this is the break I've been waiting for.

V
ATICAN
C
ITY

Charlotte Hennesey turned to see her alarm clock's digital readout blinking 7:00 in thick lines of annoying red light. The sun was glaring through the thin drapes that covered the windows and she dropped her head back onto the pillow. Though the small bed was quite comfortable, she imagined that its previous occupant had probably been a cardinal.

Hanging on the wall directly above her head was a crucifix. Her eyes locked onto it. Against her will, images of hammers pounding huge nails through skin and muscle again crept into her thoughts. Get used to it, she told herself.

Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled to her travel bag and wrestled the cap off a bottle of Motrin. The wine had really done a number on her. From the small refrigerator, she grabbed the bottle of Melphalan, popped its lid, took out one of the tiny white pills and swilled it down with some water. Next came a fistful of vitamins and supplements to counteract the havoc it would wreak on her immune system.

After brushing her teeth, she showered and dressed. She strapped her money belt containing her cash and passport beneath her blouse (her travel guide had strongly suggested it since Rome was notorious for pickpockets). Pocketing her cell phone, she made her way out the door.

Entering the lab Charlotte saw Giovanni already well into his work, hunched over a metal cabinet and fiddling with some computer cables.

He looked up and smiled. "Ah. I see you're looking rested today."

"Still catching up, but doing better." She eyed the device. "What's that?"

He waved her over. "You're going to like this. It's a laser scanner used for 3-D imaging."

The rectangular unit was compact, standing about three feet high, with an empty inner chamber and glass door. The controls were mounted on the side.

Charlotte eyed it critically. "Looks like a mini bar," she said.

He gave it a cursory glance and laughed. "Never thought of that. No bags of peanuts inside, though. Why don't you get settled and have some coffee? Then I'll show you how to work this," he said, connecting a USB cable from the back of the unit into his laptop's data port.

Less than five minutes later, Charlotte had returned suited up and ready to go.

"With this we scan every bone one at a time and reassemble the skeleton in the computer's imaging software," Bersei explained. "Then the CAD program analyzes them and the associated ligament attachment points, calculates the associated muscle mass each bone supported, and attempts to re-create the image of what our mystery man looked like when he was flesh and blood. I'll do the first one; you can do the rest."

Bersei reached out for the skull, cradling its toothy mandible with one hand, globular mass in the other, and mounted it in the scanning chamber. "Just put this in the minibar..."

Charlotte laughed out loud.

Smiling, Bersei shifted to his laptop. "Then click the '
COMINCIARE SCANSIONE
' button..."

"Is the whole program in Italian?"

Bersei looked up and was amused when he saw her mildly distressed expression. "Oops. Forgot about that. I'll switch it over to English." Working the mouse, it took him a few seconds to adjust the program settings. "Sorry. As I was saying, click on the 'START SCAN' button-- like so..."

The scanner hummed as lasers inside the chamber formed a matrix around the skull, detailing its every feature. Less than a minute later, a perfect digitized replica of the skull popped up on the laptop screen, shaded in white and gray.

"There you go. A 3-D copy. Now the image can be manipulated however we want." He ran his finger over the laptop's touchpad so the on-screen skull rotated and flipped on command. "Save the image and the program will ask you to label the bone using this drop-down menu." Bersei opened the list of labels and scrolled down until he found CRANIUM-- WITH MANDIBLE and clicked on it. "Then you click 'NEXT SCAN.' Why don't you try one?" He opened the scanner door and removed the skull. "Put on gloves and a mask and take a bone."