“Wonderful,” said Remi. “He’s somebody we want on our side.”
“He called a while ago and asked for you and Sam. I told him I worked for you, so he said to tell you he would be here as soon as he could. He has the Ministry of Culture approving this as a joint project. Anything that’s dated before the ninth century B.C. or after the fourth century A.D. will be granted a license for possible export to the U.S. Anything else will be negotiated case by case.”
“Those are generous terms,” said Sam.
“It will be good to have official backing,” Albrecht said. “Going into a catacomb is like a cave expedition. The floor is hard, smoothly finished, and reasonably level and dry. But beyond the areas open to the public, it’s not very different from the way it was in 300 C.E. There will be no electricity. None of the deceased will have been removed from their crypts and sepulchres. We’ll use what we bring and, when we go, we’ll leave nothing behind. This is a fifteen-kilometer archaeological site. We map and photograph, but, to the extent that we can avoid it, we touch nothing. We’ll have to be very deliberate, attentive, and patient because the tomb will be hidden somehow. What we’re after is one of the great treasures of the ancient world. Attila started thinking about this tomb when he was twelve and didn’t stop until he died thirty-five years later. All we can assume is that finding it will not be easy.”
Sam said, “I think we’d better all decide how we’d like to do this. I suggest that before we go down there, each of us think about our capabilities. If you don’t think you’re up to walking ten miles on a stone surface carrying a backpack, then you should remember that going there and back is twenty miles. If you have a hint of claustrophobia, it’s better to realize it now. There’s nobody in this room who hasn’t earned the right to be down there. But we’ll also need a team to remain on the surface to watch the vehicles, take charge of anything we bring up, deal with the authorities, and so on.”
The group all looked at one another appraisingly, but at first none of them spoke. Finally Selma said, “I’ll be worth more upstairs.”
“I’ll go down,” said Tibor.
“So will I,” said János.
“I think I need to be down also,” said Albrecht. “I know what we’re looking for.”
“I’m going down,” said Sam.
Remi said, “Me too.”
Wendy said, “I’ll stay with Selma.”
“Thank you,” said Selma. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be all alone.”
“I’ll stay up too,” Pete said.
Sam said, “Unless I have Boiardi wrong, I think he’ll supply a couple of Carabinieri to serve up on top too. If we find the treasure, the police will be the best ones to guard it. Next, let’s plan the equipment we bring down there. There will probably be Tibor, János, Remi, Albrecht, and me. I figure Boiardi and two Carabinieri will make it eight. We should each have a wheeled pushcart. The wheels should be large and inflated, like the tires of a small bicycle. That way, nobody has to carry a seventy-pound pack, and, if we find the tomb, we can begin removing objects on the first trip to the surface.”
“If carts like that aren’t available, I’ll have some fabricated,” said Selma.
“When do you think we’ll be ready?” asked Remi.
Selma said, “Today is Thursday. The catacomb is closed to visitors on Tuesdays. If we can complete the negotiations with the administrators by then, that would be the time to start.”
There was a knock on the door and then several waiters with carts brought in their dinner. The whole group adjourned to the large table and continued their planning over a feast. Selma had ordered a wide variety of dishes and the wine to go with them. There were seafood dishes, others of carved beef, lamb, chicken. There were pasta dishes and several kinds of salads. The next knock came about ten minutes into the feast. Sam went to the door.
In the open doorway stood Captain Boiardi, dressed in a dark civilian suit instead of a black uniform. Sam said, “Captain. I’m glad you could come so soon.”
“If you would save more policemen’s lives, I’m sure you would always have excellent service.” He embraced Sam heartily and slapped his back. “Good to see you, Sam.” He took Remi’s hand and kissed it. “Remi, it is a delight to see you again. You soothe my eyes after the long drive.”
“Please come in and make yourself part of the party, Captain,” she said. “Do you have any of your men with you? They’re welcome to join us too.”
“No,” he said. “You remember the trouble we had last time because we were noticed leaving Napoli. This time we’ve split up and divided the stops we must make. I gave myself the most pleasant.”
“Thank you,” said Sam. “Let me get you something to eat and drink. If we don’t yet have what you like, we can order anything. We’re in a hotel, after all.”
“I’ll have a soft drink,” he said. “Otherwise, water. I still have meetings this evening.”
Sam gave him a glass of ginger ale, and they sat at the table. Boiardi said, “The Ministry of Culture has approved our proposal of a joint project in the catacomb. They have also granted a permit to excavate, secured the cooperation of the Divine Word Missionaries, and sent my squad to assist. When do we go in?”
“We’d like to start Tuesday, when the catacomb is closed to visitors.”
“Perfect,” said the captain. “We’d rather not waste men on crowd control.”
“How did you get the Ministry to act so quickly?”
“You placed the first treasure—the one from Mantua—with the Ministry voluntarily and that showed you to be responsible and legitimate. You fought and saved Carabinieri from criminals, proving yourselves to be true friends of the nation, of historical study, and of me, Sergio Boiardi.”
“I’m certainly glad we did,” said Sam. “We plan to ask the Ministry to take physical custody of what we find this time too.”
“Excellent,” he said. “We’ll be prepared to transport any finds to a space in Il Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli right away.”
“Will you be coming down in the catacomb with us?”
“Yes. I and two other men will join you. I will also have three men at the entrance with trucks, a radio link with the Rome police, and a first-aid station.”
“Thank you,” said Sam. “Can you be ready to go in on Tuesday?”
“We could go tomorrow.”
“Tuesday will be fine,” Sam said. “What time do you think we should start?”
“Four a.m. would be good. The traffic in Rome became impossible the day Caesar was assassinated,” said Boiardi. “We’re waiting for it to clear.”
BENEATH ROME
AT FOUR A.M. TUESDAY, THE MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION gathered inside the walls of the Catacomb of Domitilla at 282 Via delle Sette Chiese. It was not yet light out, but a representative of the Divine Word Missionaries named Brother Paolo was there to admit them. He wore the brown robe of a monk, but his bespectacled face seemed more like that of a businessman than a monk, and his socks and shoes were like those someone might wear going to an office. The total effect was like a man caught in his bathrobe before leaving for work.