The Testimonium (48 page)

He was enjoying a gourmet meal at his favorite restaurant when his special cell phone rang. This number was available only to those who had done business with him before. They were allowed to pass it to others who had need of his services, and his business grew strictly by referrals. The number had not been changed in ten years, but he did not worry about it being traced. The program he had built to host it randomly directed the calls through locations around the world, and then relayed them to his cell without a trace. If the CIA or Interpol had been monitoring this caller, their computers would have told them that the number being dialed was that of a hardware store in Cincinnati, Ohio. Tomorrow it would go to a veterinarian’s office in Greenville, Texas.

“This is the Spider,” he said. He had chosen the name for himself years before, and rather liked it. He imagined himself as an impeccably dressed arachnid, poised in the center of a web, sensing every vibration from its far-flung strands.

“I have need of your services,” said a voice on the other end. The Italian was passable, but carried a North African accent. “You come highly recommended from mutual friends.”

“What services do you require?” he asked.

“I need to monitor all phone calls coming in and out of the National Museum of Antiquities in Naples for the next week,” the client replied. “Including any lines that are encrypted, and any cellular calls made by members of the Board of Antiquities.”

“Simple enough,” Vizzini replied. “To where do you want the information directed?” The client rattled off an email address. “Very well. Do you want transcripts, or the actual audio files?”

“Both, if possible,” the African said.

“I shall require one hundred thousand Euros deposited to this account within the next two hours,” said Vizzini. “The intercepts will begin tomorrow morning, and continue through next Sunday. At that point, if you wish to continue surveillance, it will cost you an additional fifty thousand Euros a day.”

“I imagine a single week will be sufficient,” said the client. “But if it is not, shall I contact you at this number?”

“Precisely so,” said Vizzini. “And feel free to recommend me to your friends.”

“I have no friends,” said the voice on the other end, and hung up.

Vizzini shrugged and pocketed his phone. Such strange people required information sometimes.

* * *

Josh had tried to sleep for some time, but found that he could not rest. With nothing better to do, he began to read through the mail that had been delivered to him. The first letter was postmarked from Dayton, Tennessee—home of the Scopes Monkey Trial of the 1920s, he recalled with a wry smile.

“Dear Dr. Parker,” it read. “I think that your discovery may be very significant. As you translate Pilate’s statement, be sure to look at the document under UV for the watermark of the Freemasons. They have been involved in every assassination in history, as I am sure you know—”

He balled that one up and tossed it in the wastebasket, then opened another.

“God bless you for your work, good sir!” it began cheerfully. “I have been telling my students for years that those who believe the Bible have nothing to fear from good, solid science or honest history, and you are proving my argument for me! As a longtime Christian schoolteacher, it is refreshing to see reports in the news that verify the truth of Scripture instead of tearing it down! I will be watching your press conference Friday with my entire World History class.”

Josh set that one aside to answer. The next one was postmarked Friday evening, and had an address in Naples. He opened it to find a flowing script on rich, manila-colored paper. It was in English, although awkwardly phrased.

“Dr. Parker,” it began, “I was deeply saddened to see the coverage this morning of the attack on the museum’s lab and the deaths of your colleagues. I am even more saddened by the knowledge that it is one who claims to share my own faith that has done this thing. As an imam, I have devoted my life to reforming Islam to better relate to the modern world, and I have urged those who pray at my mosque to renounce violence and live in peace with those of all other faiths. Some listen, and some do not. But I want you to know that not every follower of the Prophet is a monster like the man who slew your friends today. I wish you luck with your continued investigations into history. I, too, believe that religion has nothing to fear from true science. May you recover quickly, and may some of your discoveries have survived this cowardly deed. Sincerely, Muhammad Ali-Hussein.”

Josh added that one to the pile to be answered as well. He knew that there were many peaceful Muslims out there, and he wanted to give them as much encouragement as possible. Over the next two hours, he read through nearly a hundred letters. Many were from sincere Christians, supporting him in his work and offering their prayers and, in one envelope, a neatly folded hundred-dollar bill “to help with expenses.” There were two or three angry letters from atheists and skeptics denouncing him and the team’s discoveries as obvious frauds, and even one death threat. There were also about a dozen letters from young ladies expressing an interest in altering his single status. “Don’t trust that Italian tart,” read one. “She will string you along and break your heart! You need a good old Baptist girl from Alabama who knows how to make a pecan pie!” That one made him smile, but the next one he opened with feminine handwriting on the address had about four photographs enclosed that made him blush furiously before he stuffed them into the trash can, making sure that some of the other discards covered them up. He could imagine the snide remarks if Isabella, or worse yet, his mother, saw them!

He had lost track of time when his telephone rang. It was Isabella, waiting for him in the lobby. He looked at the clock and realized that Andrew Eastwood should be waiting for him as well! He pulled on a light jacket and headed for the elevator.

He found Isabella and Eastwood chatting together in the foyer of the hotel. They greeted him with a wave, and Isabella came over and gave him a gentle hug—both of them were still sore from Friday’s trauma. Then the reporter came over and shook his hand.

“Dr. Parker, it is a distinct pleasure to meet you,” said Eastwood.

“Likewise, sir, and feel free to call me Josh,” said the archeologist.

“And my friends call me Drew,” replied the reporter.

They made small talk on the ride up the elevator, and then had a seat in the sushi bar. After they ordered their food, Eastwood got down to business.

“I like to take things in chronological order when I am building a story, so I am going to begin with you.” He indicated Isabella. “Dr. Sforza, what did it feel like the first time you set foot in that chamber on Capri?”

“When I looked in and saw that it was still furnished, and that everything in there was coated with centuries of dust, I felt like a little girl at her birthday party!” Isabella said. “I could not wait to see what lay beneath the gift wrapping of the ages.”

“How long after Dr. Rossini found the chamber did you arrive on Capri?” he asked.

“He made the discovery that morning, and I was on-site by early afternoon,” she said. “Giuseppe was one of my early mentors as an archeologist, and one of my dearest friends. As soon as he saw that the chamber was undisturbed, he backed out of it and called me—he didn’t even set foot inside it till I got there,” she said. “We entered the room together, and began uncovering the items on the table first of all.”

“Tell me what that was like,” asked Eastwood.

“Understand we had no idea what the chamber was for, or what was in it,” she said. “I knew that the furniture looked Roman in design, especially the curule magistrate’s chair, but it wasn’t until we began dusting the items on top of the writing table that it really began to sink in that we were looking at something that had not changed since the time of Tiberius Caesar!”

“What did you uncover first?” he asked.

“An inkwell,” she said. “And it still had ink residue all over it. Some of the ink had dripped on top of the desk itself, and that’s when we realized that the table had been used right there in the chamber. Then we found the signet ring with Tiberius’ name on it, and we were so excited! The candleholder and the wax candle, and then the quill—but for me, the moment I will never forget was when I watched Giuseppe dusting off that ancient quill and realized it was lying on top of an intact papyrus document! Then, after we cleared the dust from that first document and saw the signature of Tiberius Caesar—it was the kind of moment every archeologist dreams of!”

“I had dreams of being an archeologist when I was a kid,” said the journalist. “You make me wish I had stayed with it. Now, Dr. Parker, when did you enter the story?”

“I was fishing with my dad on Lake Hugo in Oklahoma when I got a call from Bernardo Guioccini,” said Josh. “He actually wanted my friend Dr. Martens to come and work the dig, but Doc was recovering from a broken leg and was not yet mobile two weeks ago. So I caught a flight and got to Naples late the next afternoon.”

Over the next hour and a half, they told him all about how the dig had progressed, and how the friendships among the team had grown at the same time. They spoke fondly of the departed and of Dr. MacDonald, and explained their growing excitement as the nature of their discovery became apparent. Eastwood was an attentive listener who rarely interrupted, his comments simply serving to guide their narrative along the way. Occasionally he snapped a picture as they spoke, but didn’t interrupt the flow of the story otherwise. Finally, after they recounted the horrific aftermath of the explosion, he asked them the one question they had not been too forthcoming about.

“So what is the story with the two of you?” he asked. “It is obvious to all that there is some kind of relationship developing, but the whole world is curious to know what it is!”

Josh and Isabella looked at one another at the same time, and then looked back at him.

“It’s complicated!” they said at the same time, and then burst out laughing as they looked at one another.

Eastwood smiled. “Is that your only comment?” he asked.

Josh said, “Well, it’s not only complicated, it’s pretty personal. How about if we just leave it by saying we have become very fond of each other?”

Isabella nodded. “He speaks true,” she said. “We don’t really know what the future holds for us at this point, so I suggest we don’t share anything else with your readers on that front.”

Eastwood made a wry face, and then smiled. “You guys have given me so much that I guess I can’t complain,” he said. “The fellas in the press pool are going to want to kill me already!”

Isabella smiled. “Tell them not being a moron has its rewards,” she said.

“And let them in on the secret of my success?” Eastwood scowled. “No thanks!” He paused for a moment. “You don’t have to comment on this one if you don’t want to,” he said. “But I’m going to put it out here for you anyway. According to a local news source, as he was leaving Capri to pick up the car bomb, Ali bin-Hassan told one of his neighbors—who thought he was a peace-loving local imam at the time—that he hoped the man would remember that Hassan represented the true face of Islam. Do you think he was right?”

Josh sighed. No matter how he answered this question, he was bound to offend someone. At the same time, he trusted the young reporter not to misquote him or distort his answer, so he decided to answer anyway.

“Of course not!” he said. “There are over a billion Muslims in a world of over six billion people. If all Muslims believed in jihad, there would be none of us ‘infidels’ left. The vast majority of the world’s Muslims are peaceful people who want to be left alone to practice their religion in peace. However, there is a minority in the Muslim world who are committed to jihad. I think the roots of this belief lie in the Quran itself, and the man who spoke it into being. Muhammad was a man of war, which even the most devout Muslim will freely admit. He spent a good part of his life leading his followers in battle and preaching against his enemies. Those who follow the path of jihad today simply believe that Muhammad’s declaration of war against unbelievers is a literal mandate for the ages, while those who reject jihad recognize it for what it is—a part of the history of their faith, not a plan for its future.”

Eastwood nodded at Josh’s explanation, and then stood. “Listen, I cannot thank the two of you enough, and I have intruded on your evening already. I’ll take the elevator down and give you guys some time to yourselves. Have a great evening!”

He ambled toward the elevator, and Josh and Isabella watched him go. “You know, when the press first started stalking us, I couldn’t stand any of them,” said Josh. “But that gentleman almost gives me hope for the American media.”

“Let’s see what kind of story he produces from our conversation first,” Isabella replied. “I have seen some very well-conducted interviews hacked to pieces and wind up an unreadable mess!”

Josh looked at her lovely face, drinking in its features. “So is our relationship really that complicated?” he asked.

She sighed. “It shouldn’t be, but it is,” she said. “I have come to the conclusion that I love you very much. I am just not sure that I can love your God as much as I love you!”

“Even though He loves you so much more than I ever could?” Joshua asked.

“You keep saying that,” she replied, “and I want to believe you. You make Jesus sound as if He is the answer to every problem. But I cannot see Him that way yet. If it is any consolation, I want to see Him that way. I look at your certainty and I am envious of it! I just can’t share it quite yet.”

Josh kissed her on the cheek. “You are getting closer every day, Isabella. Faith doesn’t often come in great blind leaps. Sometimes it just dawns on us little by little. Would you do one thing for me, though?”

She looked at his eyes, fascinated by the intensity of his gaze. There were so many emotions there. “What do you want me to do, Joshua,
mi amor
?” she asked him.

“Would you read John’s Gospel tonight?” he asked. “Or at least, over the next few days? Not as a historian, or as a scientist—read it as if you had never seen or heard of it before. Read it with your heart as well as your eyes. See if, perhaps, it helps you find your way toward faith.”