“Yes, well...” She couldn’t elaborate. “I hate to trouble you, but Dr. Bersei was wondering if you might be able to speed up the results.”
“For Giovanni, sure. The bone—is it in good condition? Clean?”
“It’s extremely well preserved.”
“Good. Then I suggest you send a sample of at least a gram.”
“Got that. And ...would this be all right?...there’s a wood splinter that we’d like to date as well.”
“Preferably ten milligrams for wood, though we can go as low as one milligram.”
“Ten is no problem. Is there some kind of form you’ll need me to fill out?”
“Just address the package directly to me with your name—that’s all. I’ll handle the paperwork. Indicate where you’d like the dating certificate sent.”
“That’s very kind. I know I’ve asked too much of you already, but Dr. Bersei was wondering if you could call us as soon as the results are available?”
“So that’s why he had you call, Dr. Hennesey.” Ciardini let loose with a big belly laugh. “I’ll process the samples as soon as they arrive. Normally it takes weeks to get results. But I’ll do my best to get them done within a couple of hours. I’ll give you the address.”
Ciardini repeated the street address slowly while Hennesey jotted it down.
“Thank you. I’ll send the Vatican courier. The samples will be with you in a couple of hours. Ciao.”
Returning the receiver to its wall-mounted cradle, she went back to the workstation.
Studying the skeleton, she finally settled on a splintered fragment from the left foot’s fractured metatarsal. With a pair of tweezers, Charlotte carefully broke away a small piece and sealed it in a plastic vial.
To determine its age, and thus the age of the skeleton, this sample would need to be incinerated. Then, the carbon gases could be collected, scrubbed, and compressed, in order to quantify any remaining carbon 14— the radioactive isotope in all organisms that, upon death, begins halving in quantity exactly every 5,730 years. Though the process seemed simple to her, she had learned that the complex array of equipment required for this test— known as an Accelerator Mass Spectrometer—demanded substantial investment and maintenance. Most museums and archaeological groups opted to outsource to independent specialist AMS labs like Ciardini’s.
From the drawer, she retrieved the wood splinter she had taken during the initial pathological analysis.
Placing the two specimens in a padded envelope, she prepared a second envelope with a Vatican City shipping label. Seeing the label’s embossed papal crest, she smiled inwardly feeling like an extra—or maybe a player— in a detective story. It all seemed a million miles from her daily routine back home. When she was analyzing samples at BMS, at the very least she knew their age and where they came from.
To thoroughly re-create the skeleton’s physical profile, Charlotte would also need to sample the skeleton’s deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. Contained within the core of all human cells, the ribbon-like nucleotide acids held the coding that determined every human physical attribute. She’d read studies suggesting that in the absence of harsh conditions and contamination, DNA could remain viable in ancient organisms. Scientists had studied it in Egyptian mummies almost 5,000 years old. Judging from the skeleton’s remarkable condition, she was confident that its DNA would not have degraded beyond the point of being able to study it.
Like carbon studies, genetic examinations required sophisticated equipment. And without doubt, Charlotte knew the fastest and most reliable facility for such testing was at BioMapping Solutions, under Evan Aldrich’s watchful eye. BMS had patented new systems and software to efficiently analyze the human genome using improved laser scanning techniques, and she’d been an integral contributor to the system’s technological development.
Glancing at her watch, she picked up the phone and dialed Phoenix. A quarter to five. Even with the eight- hour difference, she knew Evan was an inveterate early bird.
After three rings the phone was wrestled from its cradle. “Aldrich.”
That was the way he always answered: to the point. Another thing she loved about him. “Hey there. It’s the Rome field office calling in.”
Hearing her voice, he immediately sounded cheerful. “How are operations at Christianity Central?”
“Good. How are things back home?” She touched one of her earrings, remembering he had given them to her for her last birthday—emerald, her birthstone. He had told her they matched her eyes.
“Same old. So what’s shaking at the Vatican? Figuring out how to make the pope live forever?”
“It’s amazing. I’ve been analyzing ancient skeletal remains. Standard forensic stuff so far, but fascinating. I wish you could see this.”
“Back in the trenches then. Hope it’s worth our time.”
“Too early to tell. But it is extraordinary work. Anyway how often do you get a call from the Vatican?”
“True.” He paused. “I’m assuming you didn’t call just to chat.”
After her abrupt—make that icy—departure last Sunday, she knew he was referring to relationship issues. Evan had slept at her house the previous evening. A night of passion that led to an early morning discussion about “taking things to the next level.” Still not having told him about her cancer, she’d been quick to dodge the issue, much to his frustration. The limo had arrived in the thick of it all and she hadn’t left on the best of terms. Fixing things between them was important, but now was not the time. Luckily, Evan was still pretty good at separating work and pleasure.
“The specimen’s bones are in incredibly good shape and I was hoping to impress the locals with some DNA-mapping magic,” she explained. “I want to reconstruct the physical profile. Think BMS might be interested?” There was a brief pause that she knew was most likely disappointment.
After a long moment, he said, “Sounds like it would be good PR.”
“Is the new gene scanner ready?”
