“Nice, France?” Stephanie questioned.
“Yes. That’s the closest major airport outside of Italy if we go south, which I recommend, since we can travel on minor roads. We could head north to Geneva, but that would require going on major roads, including a major border crossing. I think south is safer and therefore better. Do you both agree?”
Daniel and Stephanie shrugged. “I suppose,” Daniel remarked.
“All right,” Michael said. “Here’s the route.” He again used his finger as he spoke. “We’ll drive through Turin on our way to Cuneo. From there, we go over the Colle di Tenda. Once we cross the border, which is unmanned, we will stay in France, even though the main road south goes back into Italy. At Menton, on the coast, we can get on the toll road, which will take us in short order to Nice. That section will be the quickest part. As far as timing is concerned, I’d say the whole trip will take us five or six hours, but it’s just a guess. Is this acceptable?”
Daniel and Stephanie again shrugged after glancing at each other. They were both so befuddled by the events that they hardly knew what to say. It was difficult even to think, much less talk.
Michael looked from one to the other. “I’ll take the silence as a yes. I can understand your bewilderment; it’s been an unexpected morning, to say the least. So first let’s get through Turin. Hopefully, we can beat the worst of the traffic.” He opened the second map, which was a plan of Turin and the immediate environs. He showed Stephanie where they were and where they wanted to go. She nodded.
“It shouldn’t be difficult,” Michael said. “One thing the Italians are good at is signage. First we follow signs for Centro Citta, and then we follow signs for route S-twenty heading south. Okay?”
Stephanie nodded again.
“Let’s do it!” Michael said. He settled back behind the steering wheel and put the car in gear.
At first the traffic was not bad, but as they got closer to the city, it got worse, and the worse it got, the more time the driving took, and the more time the driving took, the worse the traffic became, in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Just before they reached the city center, the day dawned clear and bright with a pale blue sky. They rode in silence, save for occasional directions from Stephanie, who attentively followed their progress on the map and pointed out appropriate signs. Daniel didn’t say a word. He was at least pleased that Michael was a prudent and defensive driver.
It was almost nine A.M. by the time they broke free, heading south on S20 to leave the Turin rush-hour traffic behind. By then, Stephanie and Daniel had had time to relax a degree and collect their thoughts, which centered mostly on their driver and their abandoned luggage.
Stephanie carefully folded both maps and put them on the dashboard. From then on, the route was clear. She eyed Michael’s hollow-cheeked, hawklike profile, the stubble on his face, and his mat of disarrayed red hair. “Perhaps this is a good time to ask who you are,” she said.
“I’m just a simple priest at heart,” Michael said. He smiled weakly. He knew the questions would come, and he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say.
“I think we deserve to know more,” Stephanie said.
“My name is Michael Maloney. My present affiliation is with the Archbishop of New York, but I happen to be in Italy on church-related business.”
“How did you know our names?” Daniel asked from the backseat.
“I’m sure both of you are intensely curious,” Michael said. “And for good reason. But the fact of the matter is, I would rather not get into the details of my participation. It would be best for all concerned. Would it be possible for you to accept that I have been able to save you from the major inconvenience of being arrested without your questioning me? I’m asking it as a favor. Perhaps you can just attribute my help as a bit of divine intervention, for which I was merely the Good Lord’s servant.”
Stephanie shot a glance back at Daniel before refocusing on Michael. “It’s interesting you used the term divine intervention. It’s a coincidence, since we heard that specific phrase in association with what brought us to Italy, namely to get the sample of the Shroud of Turin.”
“Oh?” Michael questioned vaguely. He tried to think of a way to turn the conversation away from sensitive areas, but nothing came to mind.
“Why were we going to be arrested?” Daniel asked. “That shouldn’t have anything to do with your participation.”
“Because it was learned you are biomedical scientists. That was an unexpected and unwelcome surprise. Presently, the church does not want any more scientific testing concerning the shroud’s authenticity, and because of your backgrounds, there is the legitimate worry that that is what you intend to do. At first, the church merely wanted the sample of the shroud returned, but when that seemed not to be feasible, they wanted it confiscated.”
“That explains a few things,” Stephanie said. “Except why you decided to help us. Are you confident we are not going to test the sample?”
“I’d rather not get into that. Please!”
“How did you know we were going to London when we were checking in for a flight to Paris?” Daniel strained forward to hear. Michael’s voice didn’t carry well into the backseat.
“That is a question I’d be too embarrassed to answer.” Michael’s face reddened as he recalled hiding behind the curtain in the hotel room. “I beg of you. Can you just let it go? Accept what I have done as a favor: merely a friend helping a couple of fellow Americans in need.”
They drove in silence for a few miles. Finally, Stephanie spoke up. “Well, thank you for helping us. And for whatever it’s worth, we are not at all interested in testing the shroud’s authenticity.”
“I will convey that to the proper church authorities. I’m certain they will be relieved to hear it.”
“What about our luggage?” Stephanie asked. “Is there a chance you can help us retrieve it?”
“I will be happy to do my best in that regard, and I am optimistic I will be successful, especially knowing for certain you have no intention of testing the shroud. If all goes well, I will have your belongings forwarded to your home in Massachusetts.”
“We’re not going to be home for a month,” Daniel said.
“I will leave my card with you,” Michael said. “As soon as you have an address, you can call me.”
“We have an address already,” Daniel said.
“I have a question,” Stephanie said. “From now on, will we be personae non grata in Italy?”
“As with the luggage issue, I am confident that I will be able, as they say, to have your slates wiped clean. You won’t have any trouble visiting Italy in the future, if that is your concern.”
Stephanie turned and looked back at Daniel. “I suppose I can live without knowing the gory details. What about you?”
“I suppose so,” Daniel said. “But I would like to know who it was who managed to get into our hotel room.”
“I certainly don’t want to talk about that,” Michael responded quickly, “which is not to suggest that I know anything in particular.”
“Then just tell me this: Was he or she a member of the church or a professional hireling or part of the hotel staff?”
“I can’t say,” Michael added. “I’m sorry.”
Once Daniel and Stephanie resigned themselves to the fact that Michael was not going to be forthcoming about the whys and wherefores of his helpful intervention, and once it was apparent to them that the Italian authorities had indeed been evaded by the Fiat’s passing into France, they relaxed and enjoyed the drive. The scenery was spectacular as they rose up into the snow-covered Alps and passed through the ski village of Limone Piemonte.
On the French side of the pass, they descended the craggy Gorge de Saorge on a road literally cut out of the side of the canyon’s sheer rock walls. At the French town of Sospel, they stopped for a bite of lunch. By the time they pulled into the Nice airport, it was after two in the afternoon.