“Are ossuaries valuable?”
“Depends. The stone would need to be in pristine condition.” Barton surveyed the nine remaining relics. “And these look to be in excellent shape—no obvious fractures, plus they all have their lids. Etchings can be important too. Often an engraver would mark the surface with the corpse’s identity. Sometimes they’d have decorative patterns and scenes. If the engravings are impeccable, it pushes the price up.” Barton had seen hundreds of similar boxes that had been recovered throughout the region, many more impressive than these. “These ossuaries look fairly standard.”
“Then what would one of them be worth?”
Barton pursed his lips. “Depends. Maybe six thousand pounds, or perhaps ten thousand dollars, assuming it could be sold in the antiquities market. Big problem is that the relic probably wouldn’t be particularly unusual. To fetch a high price, it would need to be in perfect condition and purchased by an avid collector or museum. But these days museums tend not to like pieces obtained through the antiquities markets.”
Razak was starting to get used to the archaeologist’s English accent. “Why not?”
“Well, desirable artifacts would be those with a high degree of provenance. A serious buyer needs adequate proof that a relic had been excavated from a specific site, validating its authenticity. The earth and commingled artifacts around an archaeological dig provide lots of clues to an artifact’s age. Remove the relic from the earth, and . . .” He shrugged his shoulders.
Razak squatted down. This was all a lot to absorb. “So what you’re really saying is...since its value can depend on substantiating its origin, this stolen ossuary might not be worth much at all on the open market?”
Barton nodded. “Absolutely. Value also relies heavily on the credibility of the seller. If its provenance is suspect, the ossuary’s value would be severely reduced, which means we can rule out the possibility of a museum or well-known collector as the thief.” Barton eyed the squatting Muslim, considering whether or not he should reciprocate by sitting. Would he expect that? Unsure, he decided to remain standing. “The potential consequences are too severe. I might also point out that many relics that have come out of Israel in the past two decades have been proven fakes, only after European museums paid exorbitantly for them.”
Razak looked up at him. “So putting the ossuary on display in a gallery would be a waste of time for them?”
Barton nodded.
The Israeli death toll just didn’t tally with the relic’s questionable market value. “Why would someone go to so much trouble—with such violence—to steal just one?” he countered. “Why not steal them all?”
“Good point,” Barton concurred. “That’s what you and I will need to determine. I’ll need to analyze the etchings on these. I will also need to study this crypt for clues as to whose family was buried here. My guess is the thieves knew precisely which ossuary they wanted and were unconcerned about establishing provenance. That rules out serious archaeologists, who are not known to blast holes through walls.”
Razak allowed himself a smile. “What does one of those things weigh?”
“Probably about twenty-two kilos, plus the bones...around thirtyfive in total.”
“And how would one go about shipping it?”
“A standard crate, I’d guess. You’d need to wrap it in a fair amount of packing material. If it left one of Israel’s ports, the contents would have to clear Customs. And I’ve been told that since Friday, all cargo awaiting shipment is being inspected piece by piece. It would never get through.”
“Most likely the IDF secured all roads immediately following the crime,” Razak added. “That would rule out the ossuary being driven from Israel.”
Quizzically, Barton eyed the Muslim. “Yes, but aren’t the police saying a helicopter was used during the theft?”
Razak nodded. “That’s what eyewitnesses have been saying.”
“I don’t mean to state the obvious, but don’t you think they probably flew it directly over the border somewhere?”
Razak’s expression was squeamish. He had thought the very same thing, but didn’t even want to consider that prospect. “Anything’s possible.” The idea that the relic might already be far from reach was daunting. This was way beyond his usual role and he silently cursed the Waqf for involving him in all this. “And apparently eyewitnesses reported a helicopter over Gaza shortly following the theft.”
“Oh dear, that’s not good,” Barton said.
“No, it’s not,” Razak somberly replied. “Not when the helicopter has yet to turn up.”
“There’s always a remote possibility that the ossuary is still in Israel,” Barton offered.
Standing, Razak brushed away dust from his pants. “I think that’s unlikely.”
Sensing that the Muslim delegate seemed overwhelmed, Barton thought it wise to shift gears. “I’m no expert on crime scenes,” Barton continued, “but I believe the ossuary contained more than bones. I would wager those thieves knew exactly what was in it.” He placed a hand nonthreateningly on Razak’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll do my best to see what these inscriptions say.” Seeing the Muslim’s discomfort with the gesture, he pulled his hand away.
“How much time will you need, Mr. Barton?”
“About an hour should do it.”
“Let’s reconvene in the morning,” Razak suggested. “I’ll have one of our men from the Waqf, Akbar, meet you at the top of the steps. He’ll escort you down so you can get started.”
“You mean watch me.”
Razak ignored him.
“Look, I don’t blame you.” Barton held out his hands, palms up. “I know this place is sacred. And I’m not a Muslim.”
Silence, not confrontation, Razak reminded himself. “Shall we say around nine o’clock?”
“Right.”
Razak passed him a business card. “In case you need to contact me.”
Barton glanced at it. Just the name and mobile phone number. “Thanks. And just for the record, Razak...I’m notinterested in politics. I’m an archaeologist. Please remember I’m here to help you. Thirteen men died on Friday and I’m confident that the clues here will help to determine why.”
Razak nodded affably and the two men made their way out of the crypt.
8
******
Vatican City
Father Donovan and Charlotte rode a noisy freight elevator down one level beneath the Vatican Museum.
When the doors opened, the cleric led her out into a wide, fluorescentlit corridor that she would have expected to see in a hospital. Their feet echoed off the vinyl tiles and blank white walls. The place was a gallery of doors. Most likely storage, she guessed.
“We’re just up ahead,” Father Donovan said, pointing to a wide metal door situated at the end of the hall.
The priest slid a key card through a reader mounted on the doorframe and a heavy lock disengaged. He opened the door and motioned her inside.