The Sacred Bones (6 page)

Heading north on Viale del Giardino Quadrato, they crossed through the lush greenery of the Vatican Gardens, passing the Casina of Pius IV, the lavish sixteenth-century neoclassic papal summerhouse.

The straight pathway ran behind the massive Vatican Museum. Charlotte remembered reading that the Vatican's extensive art collection was housed there, within the former palace of Renaissance-era popes. It was also the place where countless visitors from around the world came to marvel at the city's most famous exhibit-- the Sistine Chapel-- its walls covered in narrative frescoes; its ceiling painted by Michelangelo.

She could tell Father Donovan wasn't yet ready to divulge any more. Though she wanted to inquire why the librarian was handling the study of relics, she decided to change the subject. "This place is enchanting," she said, gazing at the flowers, ornate fountains, and fantastic Renaissance architecture. "It's like a fairytale. Do you actually live here?"

"Oh yes," he said.

"What's it like?"

The priest looked up at her, grinning. "The Vatican is its own world. Everything I need is right within these walls. It's kind of like a college campus, I guess."

"Really?"

He held up both hands. "Without the night life, of course," he said with a laugh. "Though I must admit, we do have our own equivalents to fraternities."

They were just approaching the museum's service entrance. Even at a leisurely pace, in less than ten minutes they had walked about six hundred meters-- almost the entire width of the country.

T
EMPLE
M
OUNT

Razak led the Englishman over to the blast hole, motioning him through the aperture.

Stepping inside, Barton's analytical gaze immediately swept the chamber.

Coming in behind him, Razak remained standing near the opening, uneasy with the gloomy, subterranean atmosphere.

Energized, Barton didn't hesitate to start airing his thoughts. "In the late first century BCE, King Herod the Great employed master architects from Rome and Egypt to design the Temple Mount. It was a huge undertaking that required the construction of an enormous platform that incorporated solid bedrock at the northern end"-- he gestured behind him-- "and expanded south, using vast retaining walls where Mount Moriah's bedrock slopes down." He swiveled round, pointing in the opposite direction. "That's why the southern end of the platform can easily accommodate vaulted rooms, like the space that is now the Marwani Mosque. And archaeologists have long theorized that other similar spaces existed beneath the Mount."

"Are you telling me the Israelis were aware of this room's existence?"

Barton knew Razak was looking for suspects so he knew he had to tread lightly. Though he was aware that Jewish archaeologists had performed thermal scans on the Mount that had shown questionable subsurface anomalies, he was fairly certain that this particular chamber had remained completely undetected. "Absolutely not. I'm sure that if they had, the Waqf would have been informed." He could tell that Razak didn't believe a word of it.

Barton focused his attention on the stone boxes, crouching down to get a better look, moving from one to the next, his excitement building with each new discovery.

Meanwhile, Razak's haunted gaze wandered over the stone walls. "So what is this place?"

Barton stood and let out a prolonged breath. "You're standing in what appears to be an ancient Jewish crypt."

Razak crossed his arms tightly across his chest. The idea of being amidst death and unreconciled souls was unnerving, only underlining his sense of foreboding. And Jewish, to boot! The place felt instantly smaller. Suffocating.

"And it looks like your thieves removed one of the permanent occupants." Barton was shifting from foot to foot, pointing to the rectangular depression in the dirt at the end of the row.

"But aren't those boxes far too small to be coffins?"

"Let me explain." The archaeologist paused to gather his thoughts. "During the ancient Jewish burial ritual-- the
tahara
-- bodies of the deceased were cleaned, then covered with flowers, herbs, spices and oils. Next, the ankles, wrists, and jaw were bound and two coins placed over the eyes." He cupped his hands over his eyes. "Finally the entire body would be wrapped in linens and covered with a shroud." At this stage Barton knew that the prepared body would be placed inside a long niche, or
loculus.
There were none here, but variations in tomb design weren't uncommon and he didn't want to complicate matters.

Trying to visualize the inner dimensions of the box, Razak couldn't compute how a body could fit in such a cramped vessel. "But I still don't see-- "

Barton held up a hand. "Please," he gently cut in. "They believed that the body needed to expiate sin, shed it through the process of decaying flesh. So the family would allow the corpse to putrefy for a year, after which, they would come back to place the bones in a sacred stone box-- a miniature coffin called an ossuary."

Razak stared at him. Islamic burial practice-- interment within twenty-four hours in a modest tomb facing Mecca, preferably without a casket-- was in stark contrast to elaborate ancient Jewish rituals. "I see." Razak fingered his chin.

"This type of burial was common in this region," Barton continued, "but only practiced during a very brief period-- roughly 200 BCE to 70 CE. That helps us to date ossuaries pretty accurately, even without fancy tests. As you can see," Barton pointed to the row, "the boxes are just large enough to accommodate a dismembered skeleton."

"Why did they save the bones?" Razak thought he knew the answer, but wanted to be sure.

"The ancient Jews believed strongly in their eventual resurrection, ushered in by the coming of the true Messiah."

Razak nodded. The bodies of Muslims also waited in the grave for a Day of Judgment, reminding him how Judaism and Islam shared many common roots.

"The same Messiah," Barton added, "whom the Jews believe will rebuild the third and final temple up there," he pointed above his head toward the Temple Mount esplanade.

"That will never happen," Razak defiantly stated.

That's precisely what Barton would have expected the Muslim to say. "Yes, well, anyway, this was considered preparation for that day. Without the bones, there would have been no chance for resurrection."

"Are ossuaries valuable?"

"Depends. The stone would need to be in pristine condition." Barton surveyed the nine remaining relics. "And these look to be in excellent shape-- no obvious fractures, plus they all have their lids. Etchings can be important too. Often an engraver would mark the surface with the corpse's identity. Sometimes they'd have decorative patterns and scenes. If the engravings are impeccable, it pushes the price up." Barton had seen hundreds of similar boxes that had been recovered throughout the region, many more impressive than these. "These ossuaries look fairly standard."

"Then what would one of them be worth?"

Barton pursed his lips. "Depends. Maybe six thousand pounds, or perhaps ten thousand dollars, assuming it could be sold in the antiquities market. Big problem is that the relic probably wouldn't be particularly unusual. To fetch a high price, it would need to be in perfect condition and purchased by an avid collector or museum. But these days museums tend not to like pieces obtained through the antiquities markets."

Razak was starting to get used to the archaeologist's English accent. "Why not?"

"Well, desirable artifacts would be those with a high degree of provenance. A serious buyer needs adequate proof that a relic had been excavated from a specific site, validating its authenticity. The earth and commingled artifacts around an archaeological dig provide lots of clues to an artifact's age. Remove the relic from the earth, and..." He shrugged his shoulders.

Razak squatted down. This was all a lot to absorb. "So what you're really saying is...since its value can depend on substantiating its origin, this stolen ossuary might not be worth much at all on the open market?"

Barton nodded. "Absolutely. Value also relies heavily on the credibility of the seller. If its provenance is suspect, the ossuary's value would be severely reduced, which means we can rule out the possibility of a museum or well-known collector as the thief." Barton eyed the squatting Muslim, considering whether or not he should reciprocate by sitting. Would he expect that? Unsure, he decided to remain standing. "The potential consequences are too severe. I might also point out that many relics that have come out of Israel in the past two decades have been proven fakes, only after European museums paid exorbitantly for them."

Razak looked up at him. "So putting the ossuary on display in a gallery would be a waste of time for them?"

Barton nodded.

The Israeli death toll just didn't tally with the relic's questionable market value. "Why would someone go to so much trouble-- with such violence-- to steal just one?" he countered. "Why not steal them all?"

"Good point," Barton concurred. "That's what you and I will need to determine. I'll need to analyze the etchings on these. I will also need to study this crypt for clues as to whose family was buried here. My guess is the thieves knew precisely which ossuary they wanted and were unconcerned about establishing provenance. That rules out serious archaeologists, who are not known to blast holes through walls."

Razak allowed himself a smile. "What does one of those things weigh?"

"Probably about twenty-two kilos, plus the bones...around thirty-five in total."

"And how would one go about shipping it?"

"A standard crate, I'd guess. You'd need to wrap it in a fair amount of packing material. If it left one of Israel's ports, the contents would have to clear Customs. And I've been told that since Friday, all cargo awaiting shipment is being inspected piece by piece. It would never get through."

"Most likely the IDF secured all roads immediately following the crime," Razak added. "That would rule out the ossuary being driven from Israel."

Quizzically, Barton eyed the Muslim. "Yes, but aren't the police saying a helicopter was used during the theft?"

Razak nodded. "That's what eyewitnesses have been saying."

"I don't mean to state the obvious, but don't you think they probably flew it directly over the border somewhere?"

Razak's expression was squeamish. He had thought the very same thing, but didn't even want to consider that prospect. "Anything's possible." The idea that the relic might already be far from reach was daunting. This was way beyond his usual role and he silently cursed the Waqf for involving him in all this. "And apparently eyewitnesses reported a helicopter over Gaza shortly following the theft."

"Oh dear, that's not good," Barton said.

"No, it's not," Razak somberly replied. "Not when the helicopter has yet to turn up."

"There's always a remote possibility that the ossuary is still in Israel," Barton offered.

Standing, Razak brushed away dust from his pants. "I think that's unlikely."

Sensing that the Muslim delegate seemed overwhelmed, Barton thought it wise to shift gears. "I'm no expert on crime scenes," Barton continued, "but I believe the ossuary contained more than bones. I would wager those thieves knew exactly what was in it." He placed a hand non-threateningly on Razak's shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll do my best to see what these inscriptions say." Seeing the Muslim's discomfort with the gesture, he pulled his hand away.

"How much time will you need, Mr. Barton?"

"About an hour should do it."

"Let's reconvene in the morning," Razak suggested. "I'll have one of our men from the Waqf, Akbar, meet you at the top of the steps. He'll escort you down so you can get started."

"You mean watch me."

Razak ignored him.

"Look, I don't blame you." Barton held out his hands, palms up. "I know this place is sacred. And I'm not a Muslim."

Silence, not confrontation, Razak reminded himself. "Shall we say around nine o'clock?"

"Right."

Razak passed him a business card. "In case you need to contact me."

Barton glanced at it. Just the name and mobile phone number. "Thanks. And just for the record, Razak...I'm not interested in politics. I'm an archaeologist. Please remember I'm here to help you. Thirteen men died on Friday and I'm confident that the clues here will help to determine why."

Razak nodded affably and the two men made their way out of the crypt.

V
ATICAN
C
ITY

Father Donovan and Charlotte rode a noisy freight elevator down one level beneath the Vatican Museum.

When the doors opened, the cleric led her out into a wide, fluorescent-lit corridor that she would have expected to see in a hospital. Their feet echoed off the vinyl tiles and blank white walls. The place was a gallery of doors. Most likely storage, she guessed.

"We're just up ahead," Father Donovan said, pointing to a wide metal door situated at the end of the hall.

The priest slid a key card through a reader mounted on the doorframe and a heavy lock disengaged. He opened the door and motioned her inside.

"You can keep this key." The priest handed it to Charlotte. "It also opens the rear service door after hours. Please don't lose it."

She nodded, pocketing it.

Beyond the threshold was a spacious laboratory. The walls were lined with sleek, glass-paneled cabinetry that housed a broad range of chemical containers, bottles, and small boxes. The cupboards beneath boasted an armada of state-of-the-art scientific gadgetry. Crisp halogen lighting illuminated every surface and hulking stainless-steel workstations dotted the main floor like islands. An air-conditioning and purification system hummed quietly in the background, removing dust and microscopic contaminants, while regulating the laboratory's humidity and temperature.

If the Vatican wasn't interested in science, it sure didn't show down here. This was one of the most impressive workspaces she had ever seen.