“You can keep this key.” The priest handed it to Charlotte. “It also opens the rear service door after hours. Please don’t lose it.”
She nodded, pocketing it.
Beyond the threshold was a spacious laboratory. The walls were lined with sleek, glass-paneled cabinetry that housed a broad range of chemical containers, bottles, and small boxes. The cupboards beneath boasted an armada of state-of-the-art scientific gadgetry. Crisp halogen lighting illuminated every surface and hulking stainless-steel workstations dotted the main floor like islands. An air-conditioning and purification system hummed quietly in the background, removing dust and microscopic contaminants, while regulating the laboratory’s humidity and temperature.
If the Vatican wasn’t interested in science, it sure didn’t show down here. This was one of the most impressive workspaces she had ever seen.
“It’s our newest addition to the museum,” Donovan explained. “Hasn’t even been opened to our residents yet.”
“Impressive.”
“Our art collection requires constant maintenance,” he went on, as if in justification. “Lots of marble sculptures, paintings, tapestries.” His hands were moving again as if delivering a sermon. “This is where our most precious treasures will be maintained so that the coming generations can enjoy them.”
A man emerged from a doorway to an adjacent room in the rear of the lab. Seeing him, the priest smiled.
“Ah, Giovanni, come sta?”
“Fantastico, padre. E lei?”
“Bene, gratzie.”
Hearing the Irish priest effortlessly switching languages impressed Charlotte. She watched the middle-aged man, dressed in a crisp white lab coat, as he approached to shake the priest’s hand. With hazel eyes and thick whisps of black and gray hair, he had a pleasant face that was wrinkled only in the areas where his continuous wide smile had left its marks.
“Dr. Giovanni Bersei, I’d like you to meet Dr. Charlotte Hennesey, a renowned geneticist from Phoenix, Arizona.” Donovan placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hennesey,” Bersei kindly replied, in accented English. He offered a handshake. Like many others who had met Charlotte Hennesey for the first time, he too was captivated by her striking green eyes.
“Likewise.” She shook his smooth hand and offered a warm smile. Wishing she could say something nice in Italian, she realized how she, like most Americans she knew, was deficient when it came to linguistic skills, although in Phoenix, she had learned some basic-survival Spanish.
“Dr. Bersei has helped us many times in the past,” Father Donovan informed her. “He is an anthropologist whose specialty is ancient Roman culture.”
“Fascinating.” Immediately she wondered how their diverse disciplines could possibly complement one another. Now she was even more anxious to see this mysterious relic Donovan had alluded to earlier.
Donovan held out his hands, as if an invisible communion chalice had been set before him. “I actually have to leave for about an hour to go and pick up our delivery from Termini. I figured the two of you might get acquainted while I’m gone.”
“Great,” Charlotte said, eyeing Bersei who also seemed pleased with the recommendation.
Before making his way out the door, Father Donovan added, “I’ll see you both shortly.”
The priest left.
Charlotte turned to Bersei wearing a puzzled look. “Any idea what this is all about?”
“No idea,” the anthropologist shrugged. “I have to admit, I’m a bit curious. I’ve done plenty of work for the Vatican in the past, but never had to sign confidentiality agreements. You too, I suppose?”
“Yes. I thought that seemed odd.” Three pages of legal disclaimer stamped with a raised papal seal and witnessed by a Vatican notary. Obviously, the project’s secrecy was more than just a tacit request. She was tempted to ask about the financial retainer, but felt it might be inappropriate. Aldrich didn’t say exactly how much money had been wired to BMS’s corporate account, but she guessed it was plenty.
“And I’ve certainly never been paired up with a geneticist,” he said, puzzled. “Not that I’m complaining, of course,” he quickly added.
“Do you live in Rome?”
“Two kilometers away. I ride my Vespa when I do work here.” He flitted his eyebrows.
Charlotte laughed. “I hope you’re careful. Everyone seems to drive pretty fast around here.”
“Craziest drivers in all Europe.”
“So tell me, what type of work have you done here in the past?”
“Oh, a few different projects,” he said. “I suppose my claim to fame is my papers on the ancient catacombs throughout Rome. A Vatican commission oversees the sites, so I interact with them quite often. But I’m rarely called inside the Vatican itself. It’s a bit intimidating, no?”
“Certainly is,” she agreed. “Lots of guards.”
“So you’re a geneticist? Sounds exciting. Very modern.”
“I mainly do human genome research, analyzing cell structure and DNA to spot genetic flaws that cause disease.”
Bersei stroked his chin. “Amazing. So remarkable, the human organism.”
“It’s always fascinated me, ever since I was a girl.”
“Well Dr. Hennesey, I’m not sure why fate has brought us together, but I certainly look forward to working with you.”
“Thanks. And please, call me Charlotte.”
“Come,” he turned and motioned for her to follow him to the rear room. “Let’s get you a lab coat. I’m sure Father Donovan will be anxious to start as soon as he returns.”
9
******
Jerusalem
Returning from his meeting with the archaeologist, Razak found Farouq in the same room the Waqf council had convened earlier that afternoon. The Keeper wound up his phone call and placed the receiver back in its cradle.
“So what did you think of Barton?” Farouq eased into his chair. “Seems to know what he’s talking about,” replied Razak.
“That was Topol.” Farouq nodded toward the phone. “Apologizing he
hadn’t contacted us earlier. Offered to pull Barton if we weren’t comfortable. I told him I’d speak to you.”
Razak knew Farouq was indirectly asking if he was willing to take responsibility for Barton’s actions. “I think we can trust him. He’s already given me valuable information.”
“Should I tell Topol we’ll cooperate?”
“It would show good faith,” Razak urged. “After all, this affects both sides. If we keep the Israelis involved, it will alleviate suspicion—delay any violent protest.” Sometimes politics, like inner peace, was largely about damage control.
“Just be sure to keep a close eye on him,” Farouq reiterated. “Does he know what was stolen?”
“Yes. An ossuary.”
“A burial box? Why so much trouble for such a thing?”
“Still unclear.” Razak shook his head. “Barton needs time to determine exactly what was in the ossuary. He’ll be conducting a study of the crypt tomorrow morning to understand more.”