Razak’s expression was squeamish. He had thought the very same thing, but didn’t even want to consider that prospect. “Anything’s possible.” The idea that the relic might already be far from reach was daunting. This was way beyond his usual role and he silently cursed the Waqf for involving him in all this. “And apparently eyewitnesses reported a helicopter over Gaza shortly following the theft.”
“Oh dear, that’s not good,” Barton said.
“No, it’s not,” Razak somberly replied. “Not when the helicopter has yet to turn up.”
“There’s always a remote possibility that the ossuary is still in Israel,” Barton offered.
Standing, Razak brushed away dust from his pants. “I think that’s unlikely.”
Sensing that the Muslim delegate seemed overwhelmed, Barton thought it wise to shift gears. “I’m no expert on crime scenes,” Barton continued, “but I believe the ossuary contained more than bones. I would wager those thieves knew exactly what was in it.” He placed a hand nonthreateningly on Razak’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll do my best to see what these inscriptions say.” Seeing the Muslim’s discomfort with the gesture, he pulled his hand away.
“How much time will you need, Mr. Barton?”
“About an hour should do it.”
“Let’s reconvene in the morning,” Razak suggested. “I’ll have one of our men from the Waqf, Akbar, meet you at the top of the steps. He’ll escort you down so you can get started.”
“You mean watch me.”
Razak ignored him.
“Look, I don’t blame you.” Barton held out his hands, palms up. “I know this place is sacred. And I’m not a Muslim.”
Silence, not confrontation, Razak reminded himself. “Shall we say around nine o’clock?”
“Right.”
Razak passed him a business card. “In case you need to contact me.”
Barton glanced at it. Just the name and mobile phone number. “Thanks. And just for the record, Razak...I’m notinterested in politics. I’m an archaeologist. Please remember I’m here to help you. Thirteen men died on Friday and I’m confident that the clues here will help to determine why.”
Razak nodded affably and the two men made their way out of the crypt.
8
******
Vatican City
Father Donovan and Charlotte rode a noisy freight elevator down one level beneath the Vatican Museum.
When the doors opened, the cleric led her out into a wide, fluorescentlit corridor that she would have expected to see in a hospital. Their feet echoed off the vinyl tiles and blank white walls. The place was a gallery of doors. Most likely storage, she guessed.
“We’re just up ahead,” Father Donovan said, pointing to a wide metal door situated at the end of the hall.
The priest slid a key card through a reader mounted on the doorframe and a heavy lock disengaged. He opened the door and motioned her inside.
“You can keep this key.” The priest handed it to Charlotte. “It also opens the rear service door after hours. Please don’t lose it.”
She nodded, pocketing it.
Beyond the threshold was a spacious laboratory. The walls were lined with sleek, glass-paneled cabinetry that housed a broad range of chemical containers, bottles, and small boxes. The cupboards beneath boasted an armada of state-of-the-art scientific gadgetry. Crisp halogen lighting illuminated every surface and hulking stainless-steel workstations dotted the main floor like islands. An air-conditioning and purification system hummed quietly in the background, removing dust and microscopic contaminants, while regulating the laboratory’s humidity and temperature.
If the Vatican wasn’t interested in science, it sure didn’t show down here. This was one of the most impressive workspaces she had ever seen.
“It’s our newest addition to the museum,” Donovan explained. “Hasn’t even been opened to our residents yet.”
“Impressive.”
“Our art collection requires constant maintenance,” he went on, as if in justification. “Lots of marble sculptures, paintings, tapestries.” His hands were moving again as if delivering a sermon. “This is where our most precious treasures will be maintained so that the coming generations can enjoy them.”
A man emerged from a doorway to an adjacent room in the rear of the lab. Seeing him, the priest smiled.
“Ah, Giovanni, come sta?”
“Fantastico, padre. E lei?”
“Bene, gratzie.”
Hearing the Irish priest effortlessly switching languages impressed Charlotte. She watched the middle-aged man, dressed in a crisp white lab coat, as he approached to shake the priest’s hand. With hazel eyes and thick whisps of black and gray hair, he had a pleasant face that was wrinkled only in the areas where his continuous wide
