Shawn heard the trunk slam, and a moment later the guard returned to Shawn’s open window.
“What are the tools for?” the guard asked.
“For our maintenance work,” Jack said.
“Will you be entering through the Scavi office?”
“We will indeed.”
“Should I call security to open it?”
“No need. We have keys.”
“Okay,” the guard said. “Just a moment.” He returned to the tiny guardhouse for a parking permit. A moment later he was behind the car to copy down the license plate number, before returning to the open window. There he tossed the permit onto the dash. “Park straight ahead in the Piazza Protomartiri and leave the parking permit visible on the dash.” He then saluted.
“Phew,” Sana voiced as they pulled away. “I was afraid we were already dead meat when they looked in our trunk and saw the tools.”
“Me, too. During the months I worked here I never got that kind of attention. They’ve certainly beefed up security.”
Shawn parked where he’d been told but as close as possible to the Scavi office. “I’ll get the tools. You get yourself over to the shelter of the portico. I don’t want you getting wet, like this after noon.”
“Will you be able to manage?” Sana asked while getting an umbrella from the backseat.
Shawn grabbed her arm. “The question is: Will you?”
“I’m better now that we’re here.”
Sana was about to climb from the car when Shawn tightened his grip. “Wait for these cars,” he said. Sana turned to see a line of cars bearing down on them in the darkness. They went by with a whoosh on the slick, puddle-filled cobblestones, sending a heavy spray of water to splash against the Fiat. Shawn and Sana turned to watch the red taillights speed away, passing through the Arco delle Campane without even slowing.
“That must have been one of the bosses, maybe even the big boss himself,” Shawn commented.
“Thank you for keeping me from opening my door,” Sana said. “I would have been drenched.”
A few minutes later they were inside the darkened Scavi office. Shawn had carried the tools and other paraphernalia in the two buckets. Now that he was this close, his excitement and anxiety ratcheted up several degrees.
“What should I do with the umbrella?” Sana asked guilelessly.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Shawn exploded. “Do I have to tell you what to do with everything?” He’d been pushed beyond his patience. First, she threatened not to go through with their plan, and now she was asking stupid questions.
“You don’t need to speak to me like that. It’s a reasonable question. If I leave it here, someone may come along and then suspect someone is down in the excavation.”
“Why on earth would someone jump to the conclusion that a trespasser was down in the Scavi when an umbrella is left in the Scavi office? That’s ridiculous.”
“Fine!” Sana snapped back. She extended her arm and let the Hassler Hotel umbrella fall to the floor. She felt that Shawn’s concern for her feelings had descended to a new low.
Shawn was equally unhappy. Over the last year, as her career blossomed one moment she was an independent firebrand, cutting her hair short against his wishes; in another she was as petulant as a child dropping the umbrella as she’d just done.
For several beats they stared daggers at each other. Sana was the first to relent. “We’re both being foolish,” she said. She picked up the umbrella and leaned it up against a wooden bench.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, but without much sincerity. “I’m uptight because I was afraid you were not going to go through with this, which is of vital importance to me.”
In Sana’s mind any benefit of Shawn’s halfhearted apology melted away like a snowball in the tropics. Instead of taking responsibility for his behavior, he blamed it on her. In other words, the reason he’d hurt her feelings was her fault, not his.
“Let’s get this over with,” Sana said. At this point, the last thing she wanted to do was get into an argument. What she really wanted to do was get back to the hotel and go to bed.
“Now you’re talking.”
Each picked up a bucket and passed through the glazed Scavi inner office door. The corridor beyond was illuminated only by a series of low-intensity night-lights along the marble baseboards.
When they arrived at the flight of steps that descended to the necropolis entry, Shawn paused to look down the corridor toward the basilica’s crypt. He saw no one.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
They descended the stairs. At the bottom, Shawn opened the grate with the appropriate key, let Sana pass, then stepped in himself before locking the metal barrier behind him.
With only scant illumination descending from the night-lights in the corridor above, the couple immediately took out their respective construction helmets and switched on the headlamps.
“Not bad,” Sana commented, using the headlamp to look down the narrow stone passageway to the solid, humidity-proof door to the necropolis. Just a moment earlier, she’d experienced a touch of claustrophobia. The headlamp changed everything.
“Here, take this in one hand and the bucket in the other,” Shawn said, after switching on one of the flashlights.
“I don’t think I need it with the headlamp.”
“Take it,” Shawn insisted.
Shawn squeezed past Sana and quickly descended to the solid door. With every step he felt his excitement grow. He couldn’t help feeling optimistic. He was convinced that the ossuary would be where Saturninus said he’d put it almost two millennia ago.
After unlocking the solid door, he once again moved aside so Sana could precede him. Then, after relocking it, he pushed past his wife to descend quickly to the level of the Roman-era cemetery. He was ready to turn west but sensed Sana wasn’t behind him.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked as he looked behind to see her descending slowly, her headlamp and flashlight moving erratically in rapid arcs.
“I don’t like this,” Sana said.
“What don’t you like?” Shawn demanded, and under his breath he murmured, “What the hell now?” They were just beginning, and he was already finding his wife a progressively frustrating handicap. For a moment he thought about having her wait in the car, but then he remembered he needed her. What he was planning was definitely a two-person job.
“My lights don’t seem to reach the ceiling. It gives me a strange feeling.”
“The ceiling has been purposefully darkened so visitors don’t see the steel supports. It’s for atmosphere.”
“Is that what it is?” Sana said. She reached the ancient cemetery level and allowed her lights to play across the dark entrances of the mausoleums.
Shawn rolled his eyes.
“This place is even eerier at night than during the day,” Sana remarked.
“Because the freaking lights are turned off, for shit’s sake,” Shawn growled.
“What was that noise?” Sana demanded with desperation.
“What noise?” Shawn questioned with near equal concern.
For a few moments of frozen panic they strained to hear sound — any sound. The silence was deafening.
“I don’t hear anything,” Shawn said finally. “What did you hear?”
“It sounded like a high-pitched voice.”
“Good grief! Now you’re imagining things.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, but what I’m not sure is whether you can do this. We’re so close.”
“If you’re sure I didn’t hear anything, let’s finish this and get out of here.”
“Can you calm down?”
“I’ll try.”
“All right, let’s go, but stay close.”
Shawn led the way west in the direction of Peter’s tomb. Sana followed a step behind, avoiding glancing into the mausoleums as they passed their dark, foreboding entrances.