Maria smiled, but in her heart she knew something was going on that Boyd wasn’t talking about. She could sense it from the way he cradled the cylinder, treating it with a parental tenderness that was usually reserved for newborns. ‘
He grimaced, reluctant to part with the artifact. ‘Be very careful, my dear. Until we open it, there’s no telling what may be inside. The contents could be quite delicate.’
She nodded, although she sensed that Boyd was being melodramatic. Nevertheless, she obeyed his wishes and treated the discovery with the utmost respect. ‘Wow! It seems so incredibly light. Are you sure this is the same type of cylinder that you found in Bath?’
‘Positive!’ Boyd brought his flashlight closer to the object and pointed out a series of small engravings that could barely be seen. ‘I’m not sure if this symbol can be translated, but I found an identical marking on the other one as well.’
Maria ran her finger over the triangular carvings, trying to probe the subtle indentations in the metal. The engraving on the cylinder was so shallow she could barely feel anything. ‘Why is this so faint? I can barely see it.’
‘I don’t know,’ Boyd admitted. ‘It could’ve been worn down over time, or perhaps it was the style of the particular engraver. I’m hoping the contents of the canister will give us a clue.’
‘That’s if there’s something inside.’
The look on Boyd’s face proved that he wasn’t amused. In response, he snatched the artifact from Maria’s grasp. ‘We don’t have the correct tools to open this. I need to go upstairs to get them.’ She winced, not realizing what had caused his sudden mood swing. ‘While I’m gone, make yourself useful and finish filming this room.’
‘Of course. Whatever you want, sir.’
‘Well, that’s what I want.’ Boyd took two steps through the archway, then stopped abruptly. ‘And don’t touch anything while I’m gone. Just film!’
Maria watched as her mentor stomped down the stone corridor, the radiance of his flashlight getting dimmer and dimmer with every step that he took. Then, when he reached the far end of the hallway, Boyd turned up the narrow stairs and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone in the massive vault.
As Boyd made his way upstairs, he slowed his pace near the crypts, careful not to brush against any of the hands that reached into the corridor. His light danced along the walls as he walked, giving the corpses the illusion of movement. For a split second he could’ve sworn that one of the fingers twitched, like the skeletal remains were coming to life. He paused ever so slightly to examine it before stepping into the first chamber.
The bronze cylinder needed to be protected, he knew that, so he tucked it into his deepest pocket before he climbed through the hole in the wall. He opened his toolbox in a huff, tossing aside screwdrivers and wrenches, hammers and nails, even a small set of rock picks until it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was looking for.
He stood there pondering the question when he realized that the walls of the cave seemed to be shaking, actually vibrating with pulsating bursts of energy.
He could feel the rocks trembling beneath his feet.
Putting his hand on the wall, Boyd tried to determine the source of the tremors, but the entire rock face was vibrating at an even rate. Next, he placed his ear to the cool surface of the wall, hoping to establish the origin of the bass-filled pitch. Strangely, the strength of the sound actually seemed to diminish as he moved closer to the sides of the cave.
He quickly went through a series of calculations, attempting to figure out what could cause such a phenomenon. The resonance, the undulation, the energy. After a moment, it dawned on him that it was probably due to an external force. But what?
As he moved toward the site entrance, he noticed the drastic change in temperature. His body, which had grown accustomed to the underground climate, was now forced to deal with the hot Italian sun. Large beads of sweat surfaced on Boyd’s brow, droplets that turned to mud as they streamed down his dirt-caked face and tumbled to the ground below.
His eyes, which were used to the dim light of the tunnels, suddenly burned in the afternoon sun. Its radiance was so intense that he found himself shading his face like a moviegoer leaving a matinee. And to make matters worse, the sound grew in intensity, forcing him to plug his ears while shielding his eyes at the same time.
‘What is that hullabaloo?’ he screamed over the noise. ‘What in the world can that be?’
Oblivious to the commotion above her, Maria danced around the vast chamber, carefully filming the Roman chests. Even though it was a simple task, she knew her work would eventually be viewed by the world’s leading archaeologists and scholars, a thought that made her ecstatic. Of course, that feeling would pale in comparison to the joy she’d feel when she told her father about her recent success. That would be the highlight of her life, for it would be the first time in memory that he’d have to admit that he was proud of her. The first goddamned time.
And it would actually involve something that she’d worked for, and trained for, and dreamed about for as long as she could remember. The first accomplishment in a career that her dad had discouraged from day one. A moment when her father, the great Benito Pelati, would have to admit that a woman was actually capable of making a mark in the world of archaeology.
A smile surfaced on Maria’s face as she made her way to the back corner of the room. She gracefully sidestepped the largest crate while zooming in on an elaborate battlefield scene. Several seconds later she noticed a red light blinking on the back of her camera. The battery on the digital unit was about to run out.
‘Damn! I don’t believe this!’ Maria glanced around the room, realizing there was no way she could finish her work with so little power. She’d have to go to the upper chamber to get her backup battery before she could finish the task.
The black helicopter hovered near the plateau, swaying in the strong wind. The pilot fought the air currents the best he could but realized he was in danger of losing control. ‘Let me set her down, sir. The wind is swirling off the rock face. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.’
The lone passenger in the copter lowered the binoculars from his cold, black eyes. ‘You’ll hold it until I tell you otherwise. I have two men on that rock face, and my job is to cover them from an airborne position.’
The pilot argued, ‘Well, I have a job, too. And it’s impossible to do it in these conditions. I’m setting her down now!’
‘If you do, I swear to God I’ll have your ass.’ The intensity of his glare proved that he was serious. He was willing to do anything to complete his mission.
11
Buses filled with foreigners rumbled past him on their way to the main gate of the Holy City. People with cameras and unruly children strolled by his bench completely ignorant of who he was or why he was there. Their sole focus was on Saint Peter’s Square and the Sistine Chapel and all the glorious artifacts in the Vatican museum, not the old man in the expensive suit or the two bodyguards who stood behind him.
Of course that was the reason that he liked to come here, the perverse amusement he got from watching so many people shell out their hard-earned cash for guidebooks and private tours. Meanwhile he sat on his bench knowing the vast majority of the Vatican’s treasure lay hidden underneath the streets that they were walking on, everything protected in hermetic vaults that made Fort Knox look like a piggy bank. He smiled, realizing that none of them, no matter who they were or how much money they had, would
The contents of
Benito Pelati’s official title was the minister of antiquities, a job he’d held for over three decades. Unofficially he was known throughout Italy as the godfather of archaeology, for he vowed to protect every relic found on Italian soil, even if that meant breaking a few laws in the process. Some critics looked down on him for his questionable
