The Sacred Bones (42 page)

The cardinal's face went a ghastly white as he stared at the human skull and bones, the ultimate relic. When he looked up again, his eyes had lost their fiery glow. "You sanctimonious bastard. You'll certainly go to Hell for this."

"I wanted you to make your peace with him before I perform a proper burial," said Donovan. He'd felt terrible carrying the sacred bones around in what amounted to little more than a duffel bag. But yesterday afternoon, he had stopped at DHL to arrange for the ossuary to be airfreighted immediately to Jerusalem. The manuscript had been sent separately to Razak, the Muslim courier he'd met in Rome. The spikes and coins were stowed in the rental car's glove compartment alongside the Beretta.

"You son of a bitch," Santelli's voice was strangely calm.

What happened next was a blur.

Yanking his hands out from his pockets, Donovan clasped the old man's wrist with his right hand, simultaneously revealing the small plastic syringe with his left. Thrusting it deep into the cardinal's upper arm, he pressed down on the plunger.

With a look of utter disbelief, the cardinal tore away, collapsed into his chair, and grabbed the site of the injection. Before he could yell for Father Martin, the Tubarine had clamped down on his heart, bringing it to a grinding halt. Buckling over in agony, Santelli's hands clawed for the pain, trying to tear it from his chest.

Patrick Donovan watched the body give a last convulsive shake. "God's will," he said quietly. He wasn't sure what the syringe had contained, but was fairly certain it had been Conte's method for killing the docent found at the Torlonia catacomb's front desk. Within these walls, there weren't many options for a lethal weapon. So Donovan had taken a lucky chance on the needle.

Murder violated everything he held sacred, breaking his vow to God that he had cast aside his horrible past. But unless Santelli was taken down, Charlotte Hennessy would surely die, and he too. The Israelis would never know the truth and an innocent archaeologist would shoulder the blame for a crime he hadn't committed.

Carefully gathering up the duffel bag, Donovan exited into the antechamber, advising Father Martin that the cardinal wished not to be disturbed and to hold all calls.

Father Martin nodded and eyed Donovan curiously as he hurriedly made his way past the Swiss Guards and out into the main corridor. Once Donovan was out of sight, he quickly made his way into Santelli's office. There he saw the purple skullcap poking above the chair facing the window. Calling out the cardinal's name twice, he slowly rounded the desk.

J
ERUSALEM

Razak waited for Farouq to put on his reading glasses, all the while staring at the ancient scroll intently.

Clearing his throat, the Keeper began to read out loud.

Farouq carefully rolled up the yellowed parchment and returned it to the casket. He removed his glasses and sat back, waiting for Razak's response.

Finally Razak spoke up. "Tell me if I've got this right. In the twelfth century, the Knights Templar befriended a group of radical Jews-- or perhaps Christians-- who gave them the
Ephemeris Conlusio,
which led them to Jesus's body, buried in a secret room beneath this very platform. Almost nine hundred years ago the Templars secured the crypt and secreted that casket together with the
Ephemeris Conlusio
beneath the floor. You yourself found the casket during excavations here in 1997."

"That is all correct."

Razak tried to absorb it. He was tempted to ask Farouq why the Templars would have hidden such extraordinary relics. But he knew the Keeper would only be able to speculate. It was obvious that the Knights Templar had been protecting an ancient secret. Knowing something of the tenuous relationship between the pope and the mercenaries during that time, it was quite possible that this knowledge had been retained as insurance-- perhaps even blackmail-- against the Church. It certainly helped explain the Templars' rapid rise to power. But the piety in Hugues de Payen's letter had suggested something else. Perhaps the Templars had retained noble intentions? After all, they too had once been protectors of this place. "How were you able to convince the Vatican to take action?"

"Easily. I spoke to Father Patrick Donovan, the Vatican Library's head curator. He is the one man I knew of who would have been absolutely aware of the
Ephemeris Conlusio
's existence and, much more importantly, its implications. I mentioned it by name and he recognized it immediately. A few days later you delivered it to him in Rome. I correctly assumed that he would escalate things fast."

"What if he hadn't recognized its name?"

Farouq scoffed. "That wouldn't have really mattered. I would still have persuaded him. The message couldn't have been ignored."

"You took a very big risk doing all of this."

Based on that reaction, Farouq thought it best not to inform Razak that he'd further aided the thieves by smuggling explosives into Jerusalem-- supplied by his Hezbollah contacts in Lebanon equally eager to topple the state of Israel. A second procurement had also been made at the thieves' behest-- a heavy-duty coring drill that Farouq had been told to purchase abroad in cash. Hezbollah had helped with that too.

"Probability, Razak, my friend. It's all about odds on a favorable outcome. In this case the numbers were in our favor, and I acted as I saw fit. I've said before that averting discovery of Jesus's body preserves the teachings of both Islam and Christianity. Very regrettably lives have been sacrificed in the process...although they were only Jews. But if we'd done nothing, there would have been a much higher death toll-- both physical and spiritual-- of both Muslims and Christians. Only the Jews would have gained at our expense. I think you'll agree that this outcome's the best we could have expected."

Razak had to concede that there was undeniable, yet twisted, logic to Farouq's thinking. It had been extremely devious damage control. "And how do you feel having learned of these contradictions to our teachings?"

Farouq stared at the ceiling. "None of this should mean that we question our faith, Razak. It may mean we need to dig deeper for meaning. Even if those stolen bones truly were Jesus's remains, I will not waver in my faith. Not over some old bones."

Razak recalled Barton saying something about pre-biblical texts viewing resurrection as a spiritual transformation-- not a physical one. Though the word "resurrection" had survived for centuries, perhaps its meaning had somehow evolved into a more literal definition.

"And Solomon's Temple?"

The Keeper pursed his lips. "Ancient history. Just like the city of Jebus that King David conquered and renamed Jerusalem one thousand years before Jesus's time. The Jews shed a lot of innocent blood to lay claim to this so-called 'Promised Land.' Yet when the tables were turned, they felt violated. No one truly owns this place except Allah. For now, the Jews have regained control of Israel. But our very presence here, on this site, reminds them that the tide will once again reverse. Ultimately, it is up to Allah to decide who will be victorious." Farouq circled round the desk and placed a hand on Razak's shoulder. "Let us go to the mosque and pray."

R
OME

Aldrich moved closer to Charlotte. "Charlie, what if I told you we could wipe away any disease with one injection-- a serum so powerful that it can recode damaged DNA?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came. She stared from the vial, to Evan, and back again. Could it be?

"When I was at your house last week, I saw the medication in your refrigerator-- the Melphalan...with your name on it."

A lump settled into her chest and her eyes welled up with tears. "I've been meaning to tell you, but-- "

She collapsed in his arms.

"It's okay," he said softly.

Her tears came stronger now. Then she sat bolt upright. "My pills! I left my pills back at the Vatican. I'm supposed to take them every day!"

"Don't worry about that," he assured her. "You don't need them. Not anymore."

She was momentarily puzzled.

"Myeloma is one tough cancer," he explained. "I know this must be tearing you up. And I know it's probably why you've been distant lately. I pushed too hard last week. You've got so many other things on your mind right now. It was selfish of me."

Sobbing, she nodded. "I...I haven't told anyone."

"I think that from now on, we need to make sure that you start opening up a little more before you emotionally implode," he said with a smile. "I can take the tough stuff, Charlie. You need to be able to trust me."

Nodding, she reached over for the tissue box on the nightstand. "I've got to tell my dad, too." She dabbed the tears away. "But I'm just afraid. He's already had to deal with losing mom..."

"You're not going to have to tell him."

Evan's comments were starting to bother her. "What are you talking about?"

He cradled the precious vial. "If I'm right about this, there will be nothing to talk about. There'll be no reason to keep popping Melphalan. I'd like you to be the first in my clinical trial."

She wiped her eyes. "Come on Evan, it can't be that easy."

"That's what I thought, too. But I think you'll agree that when it comes to genetics, I know what I'm talking about. I'm absolutely certain about this."

She studied the vial again, this time more seriously. "But why me? There are so many other people more deserving...more
sick
."

"I'm sure there are. And if we're right, maybe we can think about how to help them. But in order to do that, I need to make sure you'll be around to help make that happen."

"So...if I agree to this, you mean I just shoot this stuff into my body?"

"Yes."

"That DNA was from a male. Will it turn me into a man?"

They both laughed and it lifted some of the heaviness from the room.

"I've already stripped out the gender-specific stuff," he assured her. "What you have here is a customized serum that will primarily target your bones, blood cells, and so on. With a perfect genome, we can mix this stuff all sorts of ways."