For three days more, Abgar lay dying. On the third day, the palace was dark, and the night outside black, and only the queen was watching over him. He opened his eyes and smiled at her in gratitude, his gaze filled with tenderness and love. Then he expired, at peace with himself and God. The queen clutched her husband's hand. Then she softly closed his eyes and kissed his lips.
She allowed herself only a few moments to pray, asking that God take Abgar into His keeping. Then, stealthily, she slipped through the dark corridors of the palace until she came to a nearby apartment where for some days now the royal scribe Ticius had been staying.
He was asleep, but he awoke when he felt the queen's hand upon his shoulder. Neither spoke a word. Then, under the cover of night and darkness, the queen returned to the royal bedchamber, while Ticius crept carefully out of the palace and made his way to the house of Josar.
The sun had not yet risen when Josar, filled with desolation, heard from Ticius the news of the king's death. He, too, had only moments for prayer. He had to send a message to Marcius, as the royal architect had bidden. Their plan depended on it. And he had to advise Thaddeus, for the life of them both, he was certain, had come to an end.
14
"ALL RIGHT, MARCO, SPIT IT OUT-WHAT'S on your mind?"
Santiago Jimenez's direct question took Marco by surprise.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Jesus, aren't we supposed to be detectives?"
Paola smiled. Marco had asked her to invite John Barry, the U.S. cultural attache, and Santiago Jimenez, Europol's representative in Rome, to dinner at their house. John had come with his wife, Lisa. Santiago was single, so his companion was always a surprise-and never the same girl twice. This time he'd come with his sister Ana, a vivacious young woman, a journalist who was in Rome covering a summit of the heads of state of the European Union. Now, after several convivial courses, they were all relaxing around the table with dessert and coffee.
'All right, then, you know that there's been another accident at the cathedral in Turin," Marco began. He took his time, summing up the case for them, oudining in general the relevant history and the fantastic similarities among the incidents, thoughtfully responding to their comments and questions.
"The history of the shroud is interesting-the way it's appeared and disappeared over the centuries, the dangers it's been exposed to-but it's hard to imagine someone would be so determined to destroy it or steal it," Lisa mused as the conversation began to wind down, her interest as an archaeologist sparked. "It's been in the cathedral at Turin since the House of Savoy deposited it there. As I recall, the story is that the cardinal of Milan, Carlos Borromeo, promised to walk from Milan to Chambery, where the shroud was at the time, to pray that the plague that lay on his city be lifted. The Savoys, who owned the shroud, were moved by his piety and decided to move it halfway, to Turin, to keep the cardinal from having to walk so far. And it's still there today. So think about it-obviously, if there've been so many accidents in the cathedral, and you don't believe they're unrelated, and you've got to admit that it can't have been the same individual who set the fire two weeks ago and over a hundred years ago, then-"
"Lisa, slow down," John scolded her. "Let Marco finish."
"Yes, but what I can't figure out is what's behind it- I can't see any motive. It may just be some fanatic who wants to destroy the shroud."
'A fanatic could have caused the accidents over the last ten, fifteen, twenty years, but a hundred years ago?" Ana took up the argument. "It's a great story, though. I'd love to write it."
'Ana! You're not here as a reporter!" Her brother glared at her across the table.
"It's okay, Santiago, it's okay. I'm sure we can count on Ana to keep this off the record and strictly confidential. Right, Ana?" Marco smiled at the journalist, but his meaning was clear. 'And, John, Lisa's gone to the heart of it. I'm asking you and Santiago to help me think about this, to find some plausible explanation for this mystery. I don't know whether my people and I are too close to this thing-I'd appreciate some outside eyes. I've prepared a report that details all the unexplained events that have happened in the cathedral or in relation to the shroud over the last hundred years. I know I'm presuming on our friendship and that you're both up to your ears in work, but it would be a great favor to me if you'd read it and let me know what you think."
"I'll be glad to give you a hand," the Spaniard said warmly. "Plus, you know you're welcome to take a look at the Europol files on- the shroud anytime you want."
"Thanks, Santiago."
"Of course I'll take a look, too, Marco, and give you my honest opinion. You know you can count on my help in anything you need, officially and unofficially," promised John.
"I'd like to read it, too, if I could," Santiago's sister interjected.
'Ana, you're not a cop, you don't have anything to do with this. Marco can't give you an official, confidential report."
"I'm sorry, Ana-" Marco began.
"Your loss, chief," Ana interrupted. "Let me give you a reporter's tip, though. My intuition tells me that if there is something, you've got to go at-whatever it is from the history angle, not the police angle. But it's your case."
As they walked to his car, Ana gave Santiago a playful hug. "You know, big brother, I think I'll stick around a few days longer."
"Ana, Marco is a friend of mine. Besides, I'd be in deep shit professionally if anybody found out that my sister was publishing stories on police cases that she could know about only through me. It would ruin my career-it's that simple. I don't care how great the story is."
"Oh, come on, don't be so melodramatic. I won't write a line, I promise."
"You won't? You'll keep this all totally off the record?"
"I promise I will, take it easy. I respect my sources when they tell me something off the record-I wouldn't last long if I didn't."
"I don't know why you decided to be a goddamn reporter!"
"Yeah, right, being a cop is a real step up!"
"Come on, I'll buy you a drink at the new 'in' place, so you can tell your friends all about it when you get back to Barcelona."
'All right, but I'm not taking it as a bribe, and I hope you'll let me in on what's in that report. I honestly think I could help, and I promise I'd do it without saying anything to anybody or writing a word of it. It's just that I love this kind of story. You know I do. There's something fascinating here. I can feel it."
'Ana, I can't let you mess around in an investigation that belongs to the Art Crimes Department, not to me-I'd be in deep trouble, I told you."
"But nobody would ever find out, I swear. Trust me. I'm sick of writing about politics, and sniffing out government scandals. I know I've been lucky and done well, but I still haven't come across the big story, and this could be it."
"How can this be your big story if you're not going to say or write a word?"
"Look, I'll make you a deal. You let me investigate on my own, without saying anything to anybody. I'll tell you what I find out-if, that is, I find out anything. If in the end I come across a lead, or whatever, that helps Marco close the case, then I'll expect permission to let me tell the story, or at least part of it. But nothing before the case is closed."
"No way."
"Why not?"
"Which part don't you get? This thing doesn't belong to me, and I won't-can't-make deals, with you or anybody. Jesus, why did I ever take you to Marco's house with me?"
"Take it easy, Santiago. I love you and I'd never do anything to hurt you. I love what I do, but you come first. I never put my job before people, ever. Much less in your case."
"I want to trust you, Ana, I do. I don't have a choice. But you're leaving tomorrow, back to Spain. You're out of here."