you looked hard enough was not helping matters.
The one thing she failed to notice was that a comfortable distance behind her, Salvatore Conte was watching her from the shadows of the castle wall.
29
WEDNESDAY
******
Jerusalem
Sipping qahwa, Razak sat on the veranda of his apartment in the Muslim Quarter overlooking the Temple Mount and its Western Wall Plaza. Throngs of protestors had been gathered since sunrise and now he could see news crews from around the world queuing to get past the police cordons.
Tuned to Al-Jazeera, the volume on Razak’s TV was set low, providing a quiet buzz in the background. The mood in Jerusalem was tense, and even worse in Gaza’s Palestinian settlements where mobs of young men were already engaging in low-level intifadas, challenging police with stones. Armored vehicles were now posted at all Israeli checkpoints, as well as the main gates to Old Jerusalem. The IDF had doubled its border patrols.
People were demanding answers, needing someone to blame. Israel was gearing up its defense, ready for yet another confrontation. Hamas was issuing statements, smearing the Israeli authorities.
Razak tried to focus on formulating a plan for diffusing the tension, at least temporarily. Damage control. Sometimes the problems of this place seemed intractable and the sensitive history surrounding the heart of Jerusalem’s thirty-five-acre shrine embodied them.
The mobile phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Sorry to bother you. It’s Graham Barton.”
It took him a moment to recall he’d voluntarily given the archaeologist
his business card. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got the transcription back on that scroll we found.”
“What does it say?”
“Something astounding,” Barton promised. “But not something we
should discuss over the telephone. Can you meet me to go over this?”
“Of course.” It was hard for Razak to deny the upbeat archaeologist’s infectious enthusiasm. “When?”
“How about noon at Abu Shukri on El-Wad Road? Do you know where that is?”
Razak glanced at his watch. “Yes, I’ve been there many times. I will see you at noon.” Maybe, thought Razak, this is the break I’ve been waiting for.
30
******
Vatican City
Charlotte Hennesey turned to see her alarm clock’s digital readout blinking 7:00 in thick lines of annoying red light. The sun was glaring through the thin drapes that covered the windows and she dropped her head back onto the pillow. Though the small bed was quite comfortable, she imagined that its previous occupant had probably been a cardinal.
Hanging on the wall directly above her head was a crucifix. Her eyes locked onto it. Against her will, images of hammers pounding huge nails through skin and muscle again crept into her thoughts. Get used to it, she told herself.
Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled to her travel bag and wrestled the cap off a bottle of Motrin. The wine had really done a number on her. From the small refrigerator, she grabbed the bottle of Melphalan, popped its lid, took out one of the tiny white pills and swilled it down with some water. Next came a fistful of vitamins and supplements to counteract the havoc it would wreak on her immune system.
After brushing her teeth, she showered and dressed. She strapped her money belt containing her cash and passport beneath her blouse (her travel guide had strongly suggested it since Rome was notorious for pickpockets). Pocketing her cell phone, she made her way out the door.
Entering the lab Charlotte saw Giovanni already well into his work, hunched over a metal cabinet and fiddling with some computer cables.
He looked up and smiled. “Ah. I see you’re looking rested today.” “Still catching up, but doing better.” She eyed the device. “What’s that?”
He waved her over. “You’re going to like this. It’s a laser scanner used for 3-D imaging.”
The rectangular unit was compact, standing about three feet high, with an empty inner chamber and glass door. The controls were mounted on the side.
Charlotte eyed it critically. “Looks like a mini bar,” she said.
He gave it a cursory glance and laughed. “Never thought of that. No bags of peanuts inside, though. Why don’t you get settled and have some coffee? Then I’ll show you how to work this,” he said, connecting a USB cable from the back of the unit into his laptop’s data port.
Less than five minutes later, Charlotte had returned suited up and ready to go.
“With this we scan every bone one at a time and reassemble the skeleton in the computer’s imaging software,” Bersei explained. “Then the CAD program analyzes them and the associated ligament attachment points, calculates the associated muscle mass each bone supported, and attempts to re-create the image of what our mystery man looked like when he was flesh and blood. I’ll do the first one; you can do the rest.”
Bersei reached out for the skull, cradling its toothy mandible with one hand, globular mass in the other, and mounted it in the scanning chamber. “Just put this in the minibar...”
Charlotte laughed out loud.
Smiling, Bersei shifted to his laptop. “Then click the ‘COMINCIARE SCANSIONE ’ button . . .”
“Is the whole program in Italian?”
Bersei looked up and was amused when he saw her mildly distressed expression. “Oops. Forgot about that. I’ll switch it over to English.” Working the mouse, it took him a few seconds to adjust the program settings. “Sorry. As I was saying, click on the ‘START SCAN’ button—like so...”
