Sign of the Cross

ago. Way before his recent trip. None of it made any sense until he glanced down the hall and saw Jones in handcuffs, too. That’s when he realized this must have something to do with their former careers. Their military careers. And if that was the case, then they were screwed. This would become an international incident.

The duo used to run the MANIACs, an elite counterinsurgency team comprised of the best soldiers that the Marines, Army, Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard could find. Whether it was personnel recovery, unconventional warfare, counterguerilla sabotage, or foreign defense, they’d seen more shit than a proctologist. And caused their share of it, too. Clandestine operations all over the globe. Missions that no one else could handle. Or be entrusted with. When they got an assignment, it came straight from the top brass. Right from the Pentagon. And the reason was simple: the less people who knew about the MANIACs, the better. They were the government’s secret weapon. The boogeymen the U.S. wouldn’t admit to. Couldn’t admit to.

And that’s what had Payne worried. If he’d been arrested for something he’d done with the MANIACs, would the Pentagon come to his aid? Could they afford the negative publicity?

So far it had been three days and still no word.

Three days and counting…

3

Orvieto, Italy

(sixty-two miles northwest of Rome)

Dr Charles Boyd dropped his hammer and searched for his canteen. He was in decent shape for a fifty-eight- year-old, but the heat from the floodlights was brutal. Sweat poured off his scalp like rain.

‘Good heavens!’ he complained.

Maria Pelati smiled but kept working. She was half her professor’s age and possessed twice the energy. And while he suffered in the traditional garb of an archaeologist — khaki pants, cotton shirt, hiking shoes — she wore a T-shirt and shorts.

They’d spent the past few days together burrowing into the 900-foot plateau that lifted Orvieto high above the vineyards of the Paglia Valley, a location so impenetrable that it was used as a safe haven by the popes of the Middle Ages. Papal documents prove that the Italian popes transformed Orvieto into the vacation Vatican, their home away from home during the most tumultuous era in the history of the Roman Catholic Church. Sadly, papal scribes were banned from describing any specifics for fear that their descriptions could be used by their enemies to plan an attack. Still, that didn’t stop rumors from spreading.

According to legend there was supposed to be a city built underneath the city — the Catacombs of Orvieto — which was used to store the Church’s most important documents and protect its most precious artifacts. Most experts dismissed the Catacombs as a fairy tale, the creation of a drunk monk from the fourteenth century. But not Dr Boyd. Not only did he believe in their existence, he used all of his free time to search for them.

‘Professore? When I was little, my father used to speak of the Catacombs, though he never talked about them in real terms. He always considered them to be like Atlantis.’ Pelati took a deep breath and brushed the hair out of her eyes, something she did when she was nervous. ‘Well, sir, I was wondering, why are you sure that the Catacombs exist?’

He held her gaze for several seconds, then eased the tension with a half smile. ‘Trust me, my dear, you aren’t the first person to question me. I mean, who in their right mind would waste their time searching for the Catacombs? I might as well be fishing for the Loch Ness Monster.’

She laughed. ‘Just so you know, it’s probably cooler near Loch Ness.’

‘And just so you know, I’m not the least bit crazy.’

‘I never said that you were.’

‘But you’ve considered it. You’d be crazy if you didn’t.’

She brushed the hair out of her eyes again. ‘There’s a very fine line between genius and insanity, and I’ve never seen you cross that line… Of course, you are rather elusive. You still haven’t told me about the Catacombs yet.’

‘Ah, yes, the Catacombs. Tell me, my dear, what do you know about the Roman Empire?’

‘The Roman Empire?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘I know quite a bit, I guess.’

Without saying another word, he handed her a series of documents from his fanny pack, then took a seat in the shadows of the rear wall, waiting for the reaction that he knew would come. ‘Santa Maria!’ she shrieked. ‘This is Roman!’

‘Hence my question about the Empire. I thought I made that rather clear?’

Pelati shook her head, then returned her attention to the documents. At first glance they seemed to illustrate an elaborate system of tunnels that were hidden underneath the streets of Orvieto, yet it wasn’t the maps or the illustrations that perplexed her but rather the language itself. The document was handwritten in a form of Latin that she was unable to translate.

‘Is this authentic?’ she demanded.

‘That depends on your perspective. You’re holding a photocopy of a scroll that I found in England. The photocopy is obviously fake. The original is quite real.’

‘In England? You found the scroll in England?’

‘Why is that so surprising? Julius Caesar spent some time there. So did Emperor Claudius.’

‘But what does that have to do with the Catacombs? I mean, the popes came to Orvieto a thousand years after the fall of Rome. How could this be related?’

Pelati knew that Pope Gregory XI died of natural causes in 1378, leaving a vacancy that was filled by Pope Urban VI. Many cardinals claimed that he was improperly selected, and they demanded a second election. When the next outcome differed, the Catholic Church severed, splitting into two factions, with each supporting a different pope. Italy, Germany, and most of northern Europe recognized Urban VI, while France and Spain supported Clement VII.

This rivalry, known as the Great Schism of the West, divided Catholicism for almost forty years and in the process put the papal courts in danger — not only from outsiders but from each other. For that reason, the Italian popes spent much of their time in Orvieto, which was virtually impervious to attack because of its location on the plateau. And it was there, in the depths of the tufa stone, that the legendary Catacombs were supposedly built.

Boyd smiled at the confused look on his pupil’s face. Refusing to make it easy on her, he said, ‘Tell me, my dear, have you ever been to the Roman ruins in Bath?’

She growled in frustration. ‘No, sir. Why do you ask?’

‘Ah,’ he sighed, remembering the quaint town on the River Avon. ‘There you are in the middle of the English countryside, yet you’re surrounded by relics from ancient Rome. It seems so surreal. Do you know what the most amazing thing is? The baths still work. The warm springs still bubble up from the ground, and the architecture still stands proud. Ancient pillars rising to the heavens from the magical waters below. It is somewhat amazing, if you think about it.’

Confused by his tale, Pelati grimaced. ‘Not to be rude, but what are you implying?’

‘Think about it, my dear. The popes of the 1300s used the Catacombs for protection. However, that doesn’t mean that they built them. The ancient Romans were well ahead of their time. Correct? I figure if they were able to build bathhouses that still work two thousand years later, then they certainly could’ve built some tunnels that were still standing seven hundred years ago.’

‘Wait! So that’s why there were no records of their construction. They were already in place when the pope came to town?’

He nodded, pointing to the documents in her hand. ‘When I found the original scroll, I assumed it was a hoax. I mean, how could it possibly be real? Then I had it tested, and the results were conclusive. The scroll predated the Schism by more than a thousand years, proving once and for all that the Catacombs actually existed. Furthermore, they weren’t built for the popes of the Middle Ages. They were built by the ancient Romans.’

‘A date,’ she demanded. ‘Do you have an exact date for the scroll?’