Map Of Bones Part 7

Uncle Vigor sighed. "At the secretary of state's request, I came down here to evaluate the provenance of those relics. They have an ill.u.s.trious past. The bones came to Europe through the relic-collecting verve of Saint Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine. As the first Christian emperor, Constantine had sent his mother on pilgrimages to collect holy relics. The most famous being, of course, the True Cross of Christ."

Rachel had visited the Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, out on Lateran Hill. In a back room, behind gla.s.s, were the most famous relics collected by Saint Helena: a beam of the True Cross, a nail used to crucify Christ, and two thorns from his painful crown. There persisted much controversy as to the authenticity of these relics. Most believed Saint Helena had been duped.

Her uncle continued, "But it is not as well known that Queen Helena traveled further than Jerusalem, returning under mysterious circ.u.mstances with a large stone sarcophagus, claiming to have recovered the bodies of the Three Kings. The relics were kept in a church in Constantinople, but following the death of Constantine, they were transferred to Milan and interred in a basilica."

"But I thought you said Germany-"

Uncle Vigor held up a hand. "In the twelfth century, Emperor Frederick Barbarossa of Germany plundered Milan and stole the relics. The circ.u.mstances surrounding this are clouded with a mix of rumors. But all stories end with the relics in Cologne."

"Until last night," Rachel added.

Uncle Vigor nodded.

Rachel closed her eyes. No one spoke, leaving her to think. She heard the door open to the depository. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to lose her train of thought.

"And the murders?" she said. "Why not steal the bones when the church was empty? The act must have been meant also as a direct attack upon the Church. The violence against the congregation suggests a secondary motive of revenge-not just thievery."

"Very good." A new voice spoke from the doorway.

Startled, Rachel opened her eyes. She immediately recognized the robes worn by the newcomer: the black ca.s.sock with shoulder cape, the wide sash worn high around the hips, scarlet to match the skullcap. She also recognized the man inside the clothes. "Cardinal Spera," she said, offering a bow of her head.

He waved her up, his gold ring flas.h.i.+ng. The ring marked him as a cardinal, but he also wore a second ring, a twin of the first, on his other hand, representative of his station as the Vatican's secretary of state. He was Sicilian, dark haired and complexioned. He was also young for such an esteemed position, not yet fifty years old.

He offered a warm smile. "I see, Monsignor Verona, that you were not wrong about your niece."

"It would've been improper of me to lie to a cardinal, especially one who happens to be the pope's right-hand man." Her uncle crossed over, and rather than chastely kissing either of the man's two rings, he gave him a firm hug. "How is His Holiness handling the news?"

The cardinal's face tightened with a shake of his head. "After we met this morning, I contacted His Eminence in St. Petersburg. He will be flying back tomorrow morning."

After we met...Rachel now understood her uncle's formal attire. Hehad been in consultation with the secretary of state.

Cardinal Spera continued, "I'll be arranging for his official papal response with the Synod of Bishops and the College of Cardinals. Then I have to prepare for tomorrow's memorial service. It's to be held at sundown."

Rachel felt overwhelmed. While the pope was the head of the Vatican, its absolute monarch, the true power of the state rested with this one man, its official prime minister. She noted the weary glaze to his eyes, the way he held his shoulders too tightly. He was plainly exhausted.

"And has your research turned up anything here?" the cardinal asked.

"It has," Uncle Vigor said dourly. "The thieves don't possess all the bones."

Rachel stirred. "There are more?"

Her uncle turned to her. "That's what we came down here to ascertain. It seems the city of Milan, after the bones were plundered by Barbarossa, spent the past centuries clamoring for their return. To finally settle the matter, a few of the Magi bones were sent back to Milan in 1906, back to the Basilica of Saint Eustorgio."

"Thank the Lord," Cardinal Spera said. "So they aren't entirely lost."

Father Torres spoke up. "We should arrange for them to be sent here immediately. Safeguarded at the depository."

"Until that can be arranged, I'll have security tightened at the basilica," the cardinal said. He motioned to Uncle Vigor. "On your return trip from Cologne, I'll have you stop off and collect the bones in Milan."

Uncle Vigor nodded.

"Oh, I was also able to arrange an earlier flight," the cardinal continued. "The helicopter will take you both to the airfield in three hours."

Both?

"All the better." Uncle Vigor turned to Rachel. "It looks like we must disappoint your mother once again. No family dinner, it seems."

"I'm...we're going to Cologne?"

"As Vatican nuncios," her uncle said.

Rachel tried to keep pace in her head. Nuncios were the Vatican's amba.s.sadors abroad.

"Emergency nuncios," Cardinal Spera corrected. "Temporary, covering this particular tragedy. You are being presented as pa.s.sive observers, to represent Vatican interests and report back. I need keen eyes out there. Someone familiar with thefts of antiquities." A nod to Rachel. "And someone with a vast knowledge of those antiquities."

"That is our cover, anyway," Uncle Vigor said.

"Cover?"

Cardinal Spera frowned, a warning tone entering his voice. "Vigor..."

Her uncle turned to the secretary of state. "She has a right to know. I thought that had already been decided."

"You decided." decided."

The two men stared each other down. Finally, Cardinal Spera sighed with a wave of an arm, relenting.

Uncle Vigor turned back to Rachel. "The nuncio a.s.signation is just a smoke screen."

"Then what are we-?"

He told her.

3:35 P P.M.

STILL STUNNED, Rachel waited for her uncle to finish a few private words with Cardinal Spera outside the doorway. Off to the side, Father Torres busied himself with shelving various volumes that had been piled on his desk. Rachel waited for her uncle to finish a few private words with Cardinal Spera outside the doorway. Off to the side, Father Torres busied himself with shelving various volumes that had been piled on his desk.

Finally, her uncle returned. "I had hoped to grab a brioche with you, but with the timetable accelerated, we must both get ready. You should grab an overnight bag, your pa.s.sport, and whatever else you might need for a day or two abroad."

Rachel stood her ground. "Vatican spies? We're going in as Vatican spies spies?"

Uncle Vigor lifted his brows. "Are you really that surprised? The Vatican, a sovereign country, has always had an intelligence service, with full-time employees and operatives. They've been used to infiltrate hate groups, secret societies, hostile countries, wherever the concerns of the Vatican are threatened. Walter Ciszek, a priest operating under the alias Vladimir Lipinski, played a cat-and-mouse game with the KGB for years, before being captured and spending over two decades in a Soviet prison."

"And we've just been recruited into this service?"

"You've been recruited. I've worked with the intelligence service for over fifteen years." been recruited. I've worked with the intelligence service for over fifteen years."

"What?" Rachel almost choked on the word.

"What better cover for an operative than as a well-respected and knowledgeable archaeologist in humble service to the Vatican?" Her uncle waved her out the door. "Come. Let's see about getting everything in order."

Rachel stumbled after her uncle, trying to see him with new eyes.

"We'll be meeting up with a party of American scientists. Like us, they'll be investigating the attack in secret, concentrating more on the deaths, leaving us to handle the theft of the relics."

"I don't understand." That was a vast understatement. "Why all this subterfuge?"

Her uncle stopped and pulled her into a small side chapel. It was no larger than a closet, the air stagnant with old incense.

"Only a handful of people know this," he said. "But there was a survivor to the attack. A boy. He is still in shock, but slowly recovering. He is at a hospital in Cologne, under guard."

"He witnessed the attack?"

A nod answered her. "What he described sounded like madness, but it could not be ignored. All the deaths-or rather those that succ.u.mbed to the electrocution-occurred in a single moment. The dying collapsed where they sat or knelt. The boy had no explanation for how how it occurred, but he was adamant about the it occurred, but he was adamant about the who who."

"Who killed the paris.h.i.+oners?"

"No, who succ.u.mbed, which members of the congregation died so horribly."

Rachel waited for an answer.

"The ones who were electrocuted, for lack of a better word, were only those who took the Holy Eucharist during the Communion service."

"What?"

"It was the Communion host that killed them."

A chill pa.s.sed through her. If word spread that the Communion wafers were somehow to blame, it could have repercussions around the world. The entire holy sacrament could be in jeopardy. "Were the wafers poisoned, tainted somehow?"

"That's still unknown. But the Vatican wants answers immediately. And the Holy See wants them first. And without the resources necessary for this level of clandestine investigation, especially on foreign soil, I've called in a chit owed to me by a friend deep within U.S. military intelligence, someone I trust fully. He will have a team on site by tonight."

Rachel could only nod, struck dumb by the last hour's revelations.

"I think you were right, Rachel," Uncle Vigor said. "The murders in Cologne were a direct attack against the Church. But I believe this is just an opening gambit in a much larger game. But what game is being played?"

Rachel nodded. "And what do the bones of the Magi have to do with any of this?"

"Exactly. While you collect your things, I'm going off to the libraries and archives. I already have a team of scholars sifting through all references to the Three Kings. By the time the helicopter lifts off, I'll have a full dossier on the Magi." Uncle Vigor reached to her, hugged her tight, and whispered in her ear. "You can still refuse. I would think no less of you."

Rachel shook her head, pulling back. "As the saying goes, fortes fortuna adiuvat fortes fortuna adiuvat."

"Fortune does indeed favor the brave." He kissed her gently on her cheek. "If I had a daughter like you-"

"You'd be excommunicated." She kissed his other cheek. "Now let's go."

Her uncle led her out of the Apostolic Palace, then they parted ways, he toward the Libraries, she toward St. Anne's Gate.

Before long and with barely any note of the pa.s.sage of time, Rachel reached her parked car and climbed into the Mini Cooper. She sped out of the underground car park and squealed around a tight corner into traffic. She ticked off all she would need, while trying to keep any speculation to a minimum.

She raced over the Tiber River and headed toward the center of town. With her mind on autopilot, she failed to note when she had regained her tail. Only that it was back there again.

Her heartbeat quickened.

The black BMW kept five car lengths behind her, matching her every move around slower cars and even-slower pedestrians. She made a couple of fast turns, not enough to alert her tail that he had been spotted, just her usual controlled recklessness. She needed to know for sure.

The BMW kept pace.

Now she knew.

d.a.m.n.

She fought her way into the narrower byways and alleys. The roads were congested. It became a slow-motion car chase.

She pulled up on a sidewalk to squeeze past a stall of traffic. Edging to the next cross street, a pedestrian alley, she turned into it. Startled strollers leaped out of her way. Shopping carts spilled. Obscenities flew. A loaf of bread hit her back window, thrown by a particularly irate matron.

At the next thoroughfare, she punched into second and sped a block, then made another turn, then another. This section of Rome was a maze of alleyways. There was no way for her tail to keep up with her.

Streaming out Via Aldrovandi, she raced around the edge of the Giardino Zoological Park. She kept a watch on her rearview mirrors. She had escaped her pursuit...at least for now.

Able to free up a hand, she s.n.a.t.c.hed her cell phone. She hit the speed dial for Parioli Station. She needed backup.

As the connection dialed through, she left the main thoroughfare and ducked into the backstreets again, not taking any chances. Who had she p.i.s.sed off? As a member of the Cultural Heritage Police, she had a number of enemies among the organized-crime families who trafficked in stolen antiquities.

The phone line clicked, buzzed, then all she heard was dead air. She checked the phone's screen. She had hit a patch of poor reception. The seven hills of Rome and its marble-and-brick canyons wreaked havoc on signal strength.

She hit the Redial b.u.t.ton.

As she prayed to the patron saint of cell reception, she used the time to debate returning home and decided against it.

She would be safer at the Vatican until she left for Germany.

Merging onto Via Salaria, the old Salt Road, a main artery through Rome, she finally heard the line connect.

"Central desk."

Before she could respond, Rachel spotted a blur of black.

The BMW whipped up alongside her Mini Cooper.

A second car appeared on her other side.

Identical, except this one was white. white.

She'd had not the one tail...but two. two. Fixed on the conspicuous black car, she had failed to spot the white one. A fatal mistake. Fixed on the conspicuous black car, she had failed to spot the white one. A fatal mistake.

The two cars slammed into her, pinning her between them with a screech of metal and paint. Their back windows were already lowered. The blunt noses of submachine guns poked out.

She slammed on her brakes, metal screamed, but she was wedged tight. There was no escape.