“Obviously, the goal is to avoid any more scientific indignity for the shroud,” Michael added quickly. A shiver ascended his spine. His intuition was telling him the conversation was about to take an unexpected turn.
“Have doctors Lowell and D’Agostino voluntarily agreed to give up the sample?”
“Not exactly,” Michael admitted. “The sample will be confiscated by the Italian authorities when they check in for a flight to Paris this morning.”
“And what will happen to the scientists?”
“I believe they will be detained.”
“Was it true that the shroud itself did not have to be touched to produce this sample, as Senator Butler suggested?”
“That is true. The sample was a tiny piece from a swatch that had been cut from the shroud a number of years ago.”
“Was it turned over to the scientists in strict confidentiality, without official documentation?”
“To the best of my knowledge,” Michael said. “I had communicated that that was your specific wish.” Michael began to perspire, certainly not as copiously as he had while hiding in the hotel room the previous day, but from a similar stimulus: fear. He could feel a knot of anxiety building in his stomach and tensing his muscles. The tone of the cardinal’s questions had a barely perceptible sharpness that most people would not have perceived but which Michael heard immediately and recognized. He knew His Eminence was becoming progressively angry.
“Father Maloney! For your information, the senator has already introduced his promised legislation limiting charitable tort liability, which he now believes with his backing has a better chance of passing than he did when he proposed the idea on Friday. I don’t need to explain to you the value of this legislation for the church. As far as the shroud sample is concerned, with no official documentation, even if some ill-advised testing were to be done, the results could not be authenticated and could be simply repudiated.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael blurted lamely. “I thought Your Eminence would want the sample back.”
“Father Maloney, your instructions were clear. You were not sent to Turin to think. You went there to find out who took possession of the sample and follow if necessary to see to whom it was ultimately delivered. You were not to arrange for the sample to be returned and thereby put in jeopardy an extremely important legislative process.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Michael managed.
“Don’t say anything. Instead, I strongly advise you to reverse what you have set in motion if it is not already a fait accompli; that is, of course, unless your immediate career goal is to be assigned a small parish someplace in the Catskill Mountains. I do not want the shroud sample confiscated, nor do I want the American scientists arrested, which is a more accurate term for what awaits them than the euphemism you employed. Most important, I do not want Senator Butler calling to say he has withdrawn his bill, which I believe will be his response if what you have described were to occur. Am I clear, Father?”
“Perfectly clear,” Michael stammered. He found himself holding a dead line. The cardinal had abruptly disconnected.
Michael swallowed with some difficulty as he hung up the receiver. Being sent to a small parish in Upstate New York was the church’s equivalent of being sent to Siberia.
All at once, Michael snapped the phone up out of its cradle. The American scientists’ plane wasn’t leaving until after seven. That meant there was still a chance to avert a career disaster. First, he phoned the Grand Belvedere, only to learn that the Americans had already checked out. Next, he tried to call Monsignor Mansoni, but the prelate had left his residence a half hour earlier on church business at the airport.
Galvanized by these revelations, Michael jumped into his clothes, which were conveniently draped over a bedside chair. Without shaving or showering or even using the toilet, he ran from his room. Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs. Within minutes and out of breath, he fumbled with his rent-a-car keys before climbing into his rented Fiat. Once the engine turned over, he backed up and raced out of the parking lot.
Hazarding a glance at his watch, he estimated that he could get to the airport a little after six. The main problem was that he had no idea what he was going to do once he arrived.
“Are you going to give him a big tip?” Stephanie questioned provocatively, as the taxi mounted the ramp leading to the departure-drop-off area of the Turin airport. Daniel’s taxi phobia was beginning to get on her nerves, although to Daniel’s credit, the driver had completely ignored Daniel’s repeated requests for him to slow down. Every time Daniel had spoken, the man had merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “No English!” At the same time, he hadn’t driven any faster than the other cars on the highway.
“He’s going to be lucky if I even pay the fare!” Daniel snapped.
The taxi came to a stop in a sea of other taxis and cars discharging passengers. In contrast to the center city, the airport was already busy. Stephanie and Daniel climbed out, along with the driver. With the three of them working, they got all the luggage out of the small taxi and piled it on the curbside. Daniel grudgingly paid the man, and he left.
“How should we work this?” Stephanie asked. They had more bags than the two of them could reasonably carry. She glanced around the immediate area.
“I don’t like the idea of leaving anything unattended,” Daniel said.
“I agree. How about one of us going to get a cart while the other stands guard.”
“Sounds good. What’s your preference?”
“Since you have the tickets and passports, why don’t you get them out and ready while I find the cart.”
Stephanie worked her way through the crowd, keeping her eyes peeled for a cart, but all were in use. She had better luck inside the terminal especially after she had walked past the check-in counters to the security area. Travelers going through security to the departure gates had to leave their carts in the terminal proper. Stephanie took an abandoned one and retraced her steps. She found Daniel sitting on the largest of their suitcases, impatiently tapping his toe.
“It took you long enough,” he complained.
“Sorry, but I did the best I could. This place is hopping. There must be quite a few flights leaving around the same time.”
Together they loaded all but their laptop cases on the cart to create a rather precarious pile. The laptops went over their shoulders. While Daniel pushed, Stephanie walked alongside to keep the stack of bags from toppling over.
“I noticed a lot of police wandering around,” Stephanie said, as they entered the terminal. “More than I’ve ever seen. Of course, Italian carabinieri stand out with their snappy outfits.”
They stopped about twenty feet inside the door. The crowds swirled about them like a river of people. Standing where they were, they created a minor cataract.
“Where do we go?” Daniel questioned. Several people jostled him. “I don’t see any Air France display.”
“The flights are listed on the LCD screens next to each check-in counter,” Stephanie said. “Wait here! I’ll find our flight.”
It took Stephanie only a few minutes to find the right counter. When she got back to Daniel, she found that he had moved to the side to get out of the stream of people coming through the door. Stephanie pointed in the direction they had to go, and they set off.
“I see what you mean about the police,” Daniel commented. “A half dozen walked by just while you were gone. What caught my attention were the machine guns.”
“There’s even a group behind the counter where we have to check in,” Stephanie said.
They got to the rather sizable line waiting to check in for the Paris flight and joined the queue. Five minutes dragged by as the line inched forward.