“I’m sorry,” DeMeo offered.
“It was me,” the young woman interrupted. “Mea culpa.”
“Are you with us?”
“Yes, a little late,” she responded.
The guide gave her an insincere smile and continued. “As I was saying, the Vatican has the most celebrated and priceless art collection in all Europe. Of course, when we come to the Sistine Chapel at the end of our tour, you’ll recognize Michelangelo’s expression of the grand design in his brilliant work. But as we walk through the Candelabra Gallery, the Gallery of the Tapestries, and throughout the Vatican, I’ll point out the great talents including Raphael, Botticelli, and Bernini; all beloved by the popes.
“We’ll stop at key locations for pictures and questions. But stay together. If you wander off, you might not be able to catch up and you’ll miss important explanations. We’ll pace ourselves with ample time for rest throughout the next three hours.”
“Three hours?” the blonde said under her breath. She saddled up to Pete. “You may have to carry me.”
DeMeo smiled at the thought and wondered if she was just being friendly or coming on to him. It felt like the latter.
They strolled from Vatican Square through the Fontana della Pigna Courtyard, named for the oversized pinecone in the middle found in the Roman Baths of Agrippa, then onto the Gallery of Maps. The gallery was actually a 120-meter tunnel with displays of the spiritual and geographical maps that defined Italy through the ages.
DeMeo asked a probing work question when they entered the Vatican Library.
“I understand the Vatican conducts a great many scientific studies in astronomy and earth sciences. Do they house all the research here?”
The tour guide wasn’t ready to take questions, but it was a good one.
“There are many places where research is conducted and stored. We have an astronomical center at the Pope’s summer home outside of Rome and in the United States. Earth sciences are conducted around the globe. Much of the accumulated research is archived here, managed by a dedicated library staff and experts in their fields. However, you bring up a very interesting topic. While many view the Church as dogmatic, Vatican scientists are enlightened investigators seeking the truth, wherever it takes them. We are long past the age of the Inquisition. Our research and works that span the globe are among the millions of volumes in the Vatican library. I hope that answers your question.”
“Yes,” DeMeo said.
As the twelve-person tour approached the Gallery of Tapestries, the woman who joined the tour late dared a whisper to DeMeo. “So, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing on this English language tour?”
“Am I?” DeMeo replied.
“Of course you are,” she said as seductively as allowed in the Vatican. “I’m working on my masters in comparative religion with a minor in English.”
“Ah. Multo buona.”
“Very good,” she replied.
The tour guide shot them a look again.
“How about we grab a coffee later and stay on Madame Mussolini’s good side for now?” she proposed.
“Absolutely,” DeMeo said. Abso-fucking-lutely, he thought.
If things were to run their normal course, DeMeo would finish dinner and take Lucia Solera to bed. She was making such overtures apparent.
Solera playfully fed him pasta, rubbed his leg with her foot, and touched his thigh. He felt a stirring, but held back. The blonde picked up on his reluctance. She poured DeMeo a third glass of the house Chianti and cooed, “I would have thought we had no language barriers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh come, silly man. Can’t you read the universal language for ‘I find you attractive?’ We’re having a romantic dinner in Rome, we’ve shared rigatoni con la pajata from the same fork and spoon, and I want to make love with you.”
“Ah, yes, I was able to translate. It’s just that…” He was trying to remain focused.
“What? Have I come on too fast?” She straightened up. “Oh, you’re in a relationship.”
“Well, no.”
Lucia smiled seductively, nibbled his ear and whispered, “Well then, we’re in the most romantic city in the world and I’ve already undressed you with my eyes, so we’re more than halfway there.”
DeMeo wished he’d never taken McCauley’s phone call and thought about the dangers he encountered. His boss aroused concern. Lucia Solera was arousing something else entirely, and right now she was becoming the more persuasive.
“I can’t,” he said.
She slumped back in her chair frustrated. Her pouting only lasted a moment. Then she smiled. “Okay. You sleep on it.” Solera patted his crotch. “We’ll discuss this again tomorrow.”
DeMeo’s eyes widened. “You don’t even have my number.”
“Oh yes I do.” She leaned forward and kissed him passionately. He couldn’t resist.
When they separated he had to laugh. “Not that number. My phone number.”
Solera took out a bright red lipstick from her purse, seductively twisted it open and handed it to DeMeo. “Oh,” she said almost as an afterthought. “You need something to write on.” With that, she hiked up her dress with her right hand.
She got his phone number. He got the message which thoroughly trumped McCauley’s advice.
“Sure you want to stop there tonight?”
Sixty
Renee Kritz spent the day cleaning up the translations at her office while Quinn and Katrina finally rested from their travels. That evening, the Oxford professor put a stack of papers on her dining room table and said, “Give these a look.”
“Anything promising?” Katrina asked.
“Well, there’s Russian history and anthropological goodies for me. You’ll have to decide on the rest.”
This brought McCauley to the floor so he could read the printouts more easily.
“I’ve translated some of the priest’s account which is interesting in itself and pulled more recent information on the cave based on what was in the book. It’s called Denisova Cave, named for a hermit who lived there in the last half of the nineteenth century. Dionisij in Russian; anglicized as Denis. He was also referred to as Saint Denis.”
“Saint?” Alpert asked. Her mind went to the obvious place.
“Not really. Not a Church saint. Probably more for the way he lived. But it came up in the priest’s memoirs,” Kritz explained. “Here’s the skinny from other sources. The Denisova Cave is in the Bashelaksky Range of the Altai Mountains. That’s Siberia, along the border of the Altai Republic, 150 km south of Barnaul.”
McCauley stopped. “No clue where that is. Got a map?”
“I’ll get one in a sec. But look at this. Something I pulled from the Internet.” She continued to read and paraphrase, “The cave has sparked significant interest and local lore. Known to area villagers as Aju-Tasch or Bear Rock — you’ll especially love this — it’s produced bone fragments of the Denisova hominine; the ‘X-woman’ dating back to -40,000 Before Present (BP). She wasn’t precisely Homo sapiens. Perhaps a subspecies or another extinct hominid species.”
“Amazing,” Katrina commented.
“There’s more. From a paleoanthropological standpoint, the portions of the cave that have been excavated have produced twenty different layers of remains dating back some 300,000 years. Findings include now extinct animals, fifty bird species, large mammals and reptiles. Lots to chew on, or at least there was for X-woman and her clan. And apparently the Neanderthals who followed developed the implements to work with, in particular, Mousterian and Levallois flint tools and weapons. This represented a real step forward in shaping and scraping rocks into projectile points. Also, the cold has helped keep ancient remains in stasis.”