The Testimonium (40 page)

NEW DETAILS EMERGE IN MUSEUM BOMBING

AL QAEDA LINK CONFIRMED

(UPN) Authorities continue to investigate the deadly terror attack in Naples, Italy yesterday, when eight people were killed at a research lab that is part of the National Museum of Antiquities complex. The attack killed archeologist Giuseppe Rossini, paleobotanist Simone Apriceno, Cardinal Heinrich Klein, a renowned archeologist with the Vatican Museum, British journalist Valeria Witherspoon, Museum security guard Lucien Luccatori, and an American couple, Tristan Wooten and Brooke Blue, who were vacationing in Naples and were struck by wreckage from the blast.

The suicide bomb was made up of approximately 1500 pounds of ammonium nitrate fertilizer rigged with an electronic detonator. The bomber, Ali bin-Hassan, has been confirmed to be a high-ranking Al Qaeda leader who trained in Afghanistan with Osama bin Laden. He sent a video statement to several media outlets proclaiming that he was acting in order to prevent the ‘Testimonium Pilatus,’ a recently discovered first century manuscript that reportedly describes the trial of Jesus of Nazareth, from being read to the press at a conference scheduled for Friday.

Ironically, the blast did not destroy the ancient papyrus scroll, which was in another building at the moment the explosives were detonated. The Museum has announced that the postponed press conference will be held Saturday, despite the fact that one disgruntled board member has denounced the discovery as a fraud. Security around the Museum has been beefed up in anticipation of the press conference.

Josh woke up the next morning with a groan of agony. Every muscle in his body ached with a pain that was only surpassed by the throbbing of his head. He slowly levered himself upright, trying to remember where he was and why he hurt so much. He saw that he was in an unfamiliar apartment, and then the memories came crashing in. The lab destroyed, his friends dead, priceless artifacts gone forever . . . the memories hurt almost as much as his injuries. He picked up the bottle of painkillers and staggered to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water, and took two of them. Then he looked at the clock and saw it was nearly nine in the morning. His muscles were beginning to loosen up a bit, and he limped down the hall to Isabella’s room a bit more steadily than he had stumbled to the kitchen.

She was still sound asleep, her face finally relaxed and calm. Her blouse had ridden up a bit, exposing her perfectly toned belly. A single scabbed-over scratch, courtesy of broken glass from the lab, marred its feminine perfection. He lovingly pulled the blanket over her and sat down. She stirred and gave a deep groan, then opened one eye.

“Josh?” she said. “What are you—” Then her face resumed its grieved expression as she remembered the awful events of that dreadful Friday. Finally she let out a long sigh. “I was so hoping it was all a dream,” she said. “But I know it wasn’t.”

“I woke up thinking the same thing,” Josh said.

She sat up with a deep groan. “I am not sure what hurts worse,” she said. “My body or my soul!”

“Well, I can pray for one and provide narcotics for the other,” Josh said. She gave him a faint smile and took the Percocet gratefully. She swallowed the pills with several gulps of water and rubbed her eyes.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“A little after nine in the morning,” he said.

“I guess we had better get to the museum before noon,” she said. “Why don’t you let me take a shower and get dressed—unless you would like to go first?” she added.

“All my clean clothes are at the hotel,” he said with a rueful smile. “You go ahead and get ready and then you can walk me there. Or better yet, catch a cab. It’s only a few blocks, but I am not terribly steady on my feet just yet.”

“All right,” she said, sitting up. The effort caused a wince of pain. “I keep thinking I will find some part of me that does not hurt,” she said.

“I’m still looking,” he replied. “So far, my left ear and my right pinkie finger are about it.”

She got up slowly and grabbed a few things, then trudged down the hall to the bathroom. Josh limped into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. He saw some eggs and a few slices of smoked ham, and decided to make some breakfast. In a few minutes he had a frying pan heated up, and was grilling the ham with a dash of butter. After it was lightly browned on both sides, he pulled it up with some tongs and cracked about a half dozen eggs into the bowl. He stirred them with a whisk, adding salt and pepper, then diced the ham and stirred it in.

“That smells delicious!” Isabella said as she walked in a few minutes later, toweling her hair dry. She had opted for a simple pair of khaki pants and a beige blouse, with a small golden pin in the shape of a dove on the left side.

“I realized neither of us has eaten a bite since breakfast yesterday,” he said. “And, no matter how bad the heartbreak, the body still needs fuel. Grab us a pair of plates, please.”

The eggs and ham disappeared very quickly, and each of them drank a cold glass of water to wash it down. Josh quickly washed and rinsed the dishes, and Isabella put them away. Both of them were feeling the pain fade from their bodies as they stretched, walked, and used their sore and bruised muscles. The Percocet helped, too.

By the time they were done, Josh decided that maybe the walk to the hotel would do him good. It was about six blocks, and they covered the distance quite rapidly, considering all they had been through. About 100 feet from the front door, however, Isabella grabbed his arms and pulled him into the front door of a curio shop.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Look around the hotel entrance!” she said.

Sure enough, about two dozen reporters, most of them with cameras around their necks, were milling around, waiting for Josh to come out. He let out a long sigh, looking down at his clothes, which were still filthy with ash, dirt stains, and blood. What would the papers make of him showing up with a freshly cleaned and showered Isabella, while still wearing the clothes he had survived the explosion in?

“Go into this shop for a moment, and wait for them to leave,” Isabella said.

Josh looked around the corner doubtfully. “I don’t see any tents,” he said, “but that looks like a pretty permanent base camp to me. We’ll still be here at suppertime if we wait for them to disperse on their own!”

She gave him her first real smile since the explosion. “Dr. Parker,” she said, “just watch me work!” She brushed past him and took off toward the hotel at a brisk pace that belied the pain he knew she must be feeling from yesterday’s trauma. She got within about twenty feet of the press corps before one of the photographers recognized her, and within moments they were thronging around her, asking for comments. Josh could hear her strong clear voice over the traffic.

“Gentlemen, Dr. Parker will not be down for at least an hour—he is still very sore from the blast and just woke up a few moments ago when I called him. I would like to make a statement, but if it is all right with you, let’s walk over to the museum steps before I speak. It’s a much better backdrop for the cameras, don’t you think?” she asked. Josh watched in amazement as she headed down the street with the press following meekly behind her, looking like a flock of sheep following a shepherdess to their watering hole. He waited a few minutes, purchased a newspaper at the shop, buried his face in it, and walked over to the hotel.

Forty-five minutes and one very long, hot shower later, he emerged from the elevator into the lobby to find Isabella, Dr. Martens, and Alicia waiting for him. He greeted them warmly and gave Isabella an affectionate kiss. “You really saved me just then,” he said. “There was no way I could have faced that pack in my condition!”

She looked at him fondly. “It was the least I could do,” she said, “after the way you took care of me yesterday. Father MacDonald is waiting for you at the museum. He wants to talk about the press conference this afternoon, but also about Giuseppe’s funeral arrangements. They are talking about holding his service Monday afternoon, and Simone’s the next day.”

Josh nodded. “Of course I want to attend,” he said, “but why would Duncan need to talk to me about the arrangements?”

“Apparently Giuseppe’s son wants you and I both to speak,” she said.

Josh was stunned. “I am deeply honored,” he said, “but I only knew the man for a couple of weeks! Why on earth does the family want to hear from me?”

Isabella gave a gentle shrug. “Apparently you made a profound impression,” she said. “At least, that is what Giovanni, his son, told Father MacDonald.”

Josh shook his head in wonder, and the four of them headed over to the museum together. “So what did you tell the press?” Josh asked Sforza as they walked toward the entrance.

“I talked about Giuseppe and Simone,” she said. “I paid tribute to both of them, and said nothing that I regret.”

He put his arm around her. “That couldn’t have been easy,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t,” she said. “I was in tears by the time I was done. But I did it for them as much as I did it for you. The press has focused so much on us that both of them have not gotten the attention and credit they deserved. Giuseppe made the discovery, and Simone’s lab work, although cruelly interrupted, still established the authenticity of our finds to a great degree. I want them remembered as the true heroes of our story.”

By now they were inside the Museum, and Josh started striding toward the back of the building to the door that led to the lab—and then caught himself. “I just realized I have no idea where to go,” he said softly.

“This way, laddie!” said a familiar voice behind him. He turned to see Father MacDonald, smiling but looking older and sadder than Josh had ever seen him. He took the priest’s hand in his own and they embraced warmly.

“I am glad that you are all right, Father,” Josh said.

“Likewise, lad! I felt the blast deep in the service tunnel, and all I could think was that you and Isabella had been in there with the rest of the team when Sinisi and I walked out. I feared the worst,” confessed the Scotsman.

“We were just walking over to the main building when the lab blew up behind us,” said Josh. “Both of us were picked up by the blast and hurled into the side of the building. We were lucky to escape with a few cuts and bruises, and rattled heads.”

The priest nodded. “Giuseppe and the others were not so fortunate. I was able to speak with him before the end, and he—well, he was a good man. He died trusting God and doing what he loved. I will miss the old bugger a great deal, though. True friends are few and far between, and he and I have known each other for so many years. The others . . . well, they all died instantly. I have spent the night praying for their dear souls.”

The group fell silent for a moment, and then Isabella took charge. “I take it we are now operating from the old lab?” she asked.

“Indeed,” said MacDonald. “Lead the way, dear.”

She took them down two or three side corridors in quick succession to a service elevator bank marked “Restricted Access.” An armed security guard checked their names against a list he held, and then nodded them through. The elevator buzzed down three levels, and they found themselves in a large but cluttered laboratory. Several tables had recently been cleared, and on one of them the Pilate scroll was resting in its plexiglass case. Dr. Guioccini and Dr. Castolfo were waiting for them, along with a very subdued Dr. Sinisi.

“Joshua, Isabella,” Castolfo said. “I hope the two of you are somewhat better this morning?”

“Functional,” said Josh, “but that’s about it. I feel like I lost a round with Rocky Balboa.”

Isabella smiled. “Joshua protected me from the brunt of the blast,” she said. “I am sore but I will be ready to talk to the press this afternoon. I want the world to know that our friends did not die in vain.”

Josh nodded. Then he looked over at the next table and gasped. Scabbard slightly blackened but still intact, there lay the sword of Julius Caesar! He walked over and stared. “How on earth did it survive?” he asked.

Castolfo laughed. “After the blast, we were all focused on clearing the rubble and searching for survivors at first—then for bodies. Finally, about eight PM last night, I walked over to where my car was parked. The sword and scabbard had been hurled aloft by the blast and punched through my windshield when they came down—left sticking straight up like Excalibur!”

Josh looked more closely and saw that there were indeed fragments of fresh glass imbedded in the ancient leather. “Remarkable,” he said. “After the Pilate scroll, I think that this was quite possibly the most wonderful find from the site. I am glad to see it survived.”

He turned to the scroll itself next, studying the clear, flowing Latin script once more. “So what is the plan today?” he asked.

“I think we start with a quick recap of the scroll’s discovery, a strong rebuttal of Dr. Tintoretto’s baseless accusations, and a tribute to our fallen friends,” said Isabella. “Then we hand out the copies of the scroll in Latin and in English, and read the translation to the press. Then we take their questions.”

Castolfo nodded. “I think that is the best course of action to follow,” he said. “Before the events of yesterday, something more theatrical might have been in order. But given the death and destruction, your straightforward approach is much more appropriate.”

Sinisi spoke up for the first time. “My friends,” he said. “I cannot express in words how sorry I am for this terrible loss. I know that my natural enthusiasm can be grating at times to you field scientists, but I will say I am profoundly thankful that I talked Professor MacDonald into taking the scroll over to the press room yesterday. Otherwise, four more of us would be dead, and this priceless treasure destroyed forever. Understand, I am not trying to take any kind of credit. Truth be told, I begin to think the Almighty is protecting this document! I just want you both to know how very glad I am that you are alive and unharmed. I’m even glad the Father here was with me and not in the lab.”

MacDonald growled. “You are a pompous ass, Sinisi—but I owe my life to your ‘enthusiasm,’ as you call it, so I guess I will have to think better of you in the future. I canna tell you how much that annoys me!”