Intervention

Then I think we should check out the necropolis or Scavi, so there will be no surprises when we sneak back tonight to get the ossuary. As I recall, the Scavi is open until five-thirty or thereabouts.”

“Like what kind of tools?”

“A hammer and a chisel and a couple of flashlights. Maybe a battery-powered cutting device, just to be sure.”

“For cutting what?”

“Soft rock and maybe brick. I’m hoping we don’t need it. Power tools were actually banned by the pope when he authorized the modern excavation, to avoid any collateral damage, but we’re not going to worry about that detail. Where we’ll be working, the only thing we might damage is the ossuary itself.”

“Aren’t you expecting we’ll be digging in just plain dirt?” Sana asked. In her mind, the idea of cutting into rock made the scope of the project significantly more daunting.

“No, it’s going to be more like hardpan, a claylike layer mixed with gravel but highly compacted to seem like very soft stone. As I mentioned, the tomb that Peter’s followers made for him on the Vaticanus hill adjacent to Nero’s circus was an underground chamber with a barrel vault. They dug a large hole and then built two parallel brick foundation walls oriented in an east-west direction. Saturninus’s letter says that the ossuary was placed midway at the base of the north wall and concealed before the excavation hole outside the walls was filled back in.”

“And the base of the north wall is where we’re going to find the ossuary?”

“That’s right. During the last major excavation, more than fifty years ago, the archaeologists tunneled under that north wall to get inside the original tomb’s chamber, to avoid destroying the mishmash of graves, altars, and trophies clustered above Peter’s underground tomb. Starting from soon after his death until not that long ago, people clamored to be buried as close as possible to him. Anyway, it’s in the roof of that tunnel where we are going to find the ossuary.”

“I’m having trouble picturing all this.”

“For good reason. Soon after Peter’s death, the whole hill became not just the place for future popes to be buried but a popular Roman necropolis filled with graves and mausoleums. Today, because of its location beneath Saint Peter’s, only a small portion of it has been excavated. And within a twenty-foot or so cubic area right around Peter’s tomb, there is such a hodgepodge of ancient construction, you can’t believe it. To make things more complicated, sometime in the first century a monument called the Tropaion of Peter was built just above his grave. Then in the fourth century, Constantine built his basilica around this monument, using it as an altar. During the Renaissance, Saint Peter’s was built on top of Constantine’s basilica, locating the high altar directly atop what had been Constantine’s altar, now some forty feet above the floor of Peter’s original tomb.”

“It sounds like a layer cake,” Sana said.

“That’s a good analogy,” Shawn agreed.

Once inside the terminal and through passport control, Shawn and Sana split up, with Sana heading for the baggage area and Shawn for the rental-car stands. Within half an hour they were on their way.

The drive into Rome was fine until they got into the city limits. Rain, traffic, and the lack of a decent map left them praying they’d eventually come across a recognizable monument.

After fifteen white-knuckled minutes, they spotted the Colos seum. Shawn quickly pulled over, and from there they plotted their way to the top of the Spanish Steps and the Hotel Hassler.

The route they’d chosen took them along the Foro Romano to the wedding cake monument to Vittorio Emanuele II. From there they headed north on the busy Via del Corso.

“My, this looks different than it does in the sunshine,” Sana said, eyeing the pedestrians as they scurried about, huddled under their black umbrellas. “The dark clouds, the rain, and all the ruins make it seem sinister. Certainly not the Hollywood image as the city of love.”

After several more key turns they found themselves on Via Sistina and then in front of the hotel. The doorman immediately came to Shawn’s side.

“Are you checking in?” he asked graciously.

When Shawn indicated yes, the doorman waved to a colleague, who emerged with a second umbrella to shelter Sana while a porter gathered the luggage.

Once inside, they were whisked through check-in. Shawn was particularly pleased that the overnight package sent by his assistant from the Metropolitan Museum was waiting for him.

Shawn immediately began chatting up the attractive desk clerk.

“You’re not Italian, I don’t believe,” he said. “You have a most charming accent.”

“I’m Dutch.”

“Really,” Shawn said. “Amsterdam is one of my favorite cities.”

“I see you are from New York,” the receptionist said, cleverly diverting the conversation away from herself and to Shawn.

Oh, please! Sana thought. Impatiently, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other.

She was afraid Shawn would launch into his life history. Thankfully, the well-trained receptionist expertly handled the situation by coming out from behind the counter to show them to their room, while maintaining a continuous flow of conversation describing the hotel’s amenities, including the restaurant and its spectacular view.

The room was on the third floor. Shawn went to the window, which looked out over the Spanish Steps. “Come out here and see this,” Shawn called to Sana, who’d gone into the bathroom to see if it was as posh as everything else.

“Pretty amazing, wouldn’t you say?” Shawn said as Sana joined him and both gazed out at the Spanish Steps. Despite the rain, tourists were taking pictures of themselves. “Even though we can’t quite see it, we’re facing the dome of Saint Peter’s. If it doesn’t clear by morning, we’ll have to come back someday when it’s not raining so you can appreciate it.”

Turning back inside, Sana unpacked and Shawn opened his package, dumping the contents on the desk. “Thank you, Claire!” he said, surveying the objects.

Sana came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Did you get everything we need?”

“I did. Here’s my Vatican picture ID,” Shawn said, handing her the laminated card.

“This picture looks like a mug shot,” Sana joked.

“Okay, enough teasing,” Shawn joked back, snatching the photo from her hands. In its place he handed her the access permit to the Vatican’s necropolis, the Scavi, meaning

“excavation” in Italian. It was a very formal document, complete with the official seal of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology. “This is what is going to get us past the Swiss Guards tonight.”

“I’m impressed,” Sana said, handing the paper back. “Things seem to be falling into place. What about the keys?”

Shawn held them up and jangled them before pocketing them along with the ID card and the access permit.

“Looks like we are in business.”

A few minutes later, Shawn and Sana headed down to the concierge’s desk and asked where they could get a quick bite.

“Caffe Greco,” one of the two concierges said without hesitation, the other concierge nodding in full agreement. “It’s just down the steps and straight on Via Condotti. It’s on the right.”

“Can you also tell me where I can find a hardware store?” Shawn asked.

The concierges eyed each other quizzically. This was a first.

After some charades and a quick dictionary consult, Shawn and Sana were directed to a nearby ferramenta called Gino’s on the Via del Babuino.

With map in hand and two hotel umbrellas, the couple first went to Caffe Greco, where they made short work of lunch. Next they used the hotel’s map to seek out Gino’s ferramenta shop, which was, as the concierges promised, a short walk up Via del Babuino. As they approached the shop, the dusty window display of tools and housewares appeared as if it hadn’t been changed in years. When the door closed behind them, they were instantly enveloped in a palpable silence. The interior was as dusty as the window display. At the register were a half-dozen customers patiently and noiselessly waiting for service. A lone employee scanned a thick