“Yes,” Donovan confirmed. “This is Joseph of Arimathea’s representation of how it appeared in 30 AD during the time of Christ.”
Donovan explained that Joseph’s writings described in great detail what the temple looked like—its rectangular courtyards and sacred Tabernacle; its storage houses for oil and wood; the water basins used to consecrate sacrificial offerings and the wooden pyres to burn sacred animals during Passover. He said that Joseph had even noted the temple’s sacred threshold beyond which gentiles were forbidden to cross—a railed, outer perimeter called the “Chell.” Then there was the account of the Roman garrison that adjoined Temple Mount—the place where Jesus was taken before Pontius Pilate.
“But it’s this spot here”—Donovan pointed to the small darkened square that Joseph had drawn inside the gut of the platform—“that’s most important. It’s meant to show the location of Jesus’s crypt. In the text, Joseph includes specific measurements as to its proximity from the Temple Mount’s outer walls.”
Santelli’s hand was over his mouth again. For a few seconds he remained perfectly still.
Beyond the window the looming black clouds finally made good on their threat.
“After obtaining the Ephemeris Conlusio,” Donovan continued, “I researched the site in great detail. I’m absolutely certain that the secret crypt is still there. I believe that Crusaders—the Knights Templar, in fact— might have discovered the crypt and secured it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Donovan reached across the desk and carefully turned the ancient pages, stopping on a group of sketches. “This is why.”
The cardinal had trouble comprehending what appeared to be a catalogued collection—the drawing style equally crude.
“Those items,” Donovan went on, “are the relics that Joseph of Arimathea buried in the crypt. The bones, coins, and nails. Plus the ossuary, of course. These are the things Jacques DeMolay was referring to.”
Santelli was thunderstruck. Slowly his eyes settled on an image of a dolphin wrapped around a trident “That symbol there. What does it mean?”
“It’s the reason I’m sure these items are still secure.” He explained its significance.
Santelli crossed himself and set it down.
“If these relics had ever been discovered, without a doubt, it would certainly have been referenced somewhere. In fact, we probably wouldn’t even be sitting here having this conversation if they had been.” Donovan retrieved yet another document from his satchel. “Then there’s this recent article from the Jerusalem Post which our mysterious benefactor included with the book.”
Santelli snatched it away and repeated the Post’s headline out loud. “ ‘Jewish and Muslim Archaeologists Cleared to Excavate Beneath Temple Mount.’ ”
Donovan gave Santelli time to absorb the rest of the article, then spoke up. “Since Israeli peace accords don’t permit digging on the site, the Templar Knights are Temple Mount’s last known excavators. But in 1996 the Muslim trust that oversees the site was permitted to clear rubble from a vast chamber beneath the platform—a space that was once used by the Templars as a stable, and completely blocked off since their twelfthcentury occupation. The messenger who delivered this book was an Arab. Therefore, I’m fairly certain that the Ephemeris Conlusio must have been discovered by the Muslims during their excavations.”
“But why have they waited until now to present it?”
“At first, I too was suspicious,” Donovan confessed. “Though now I’ve got a good idea as to why.” From the satchel he retrieved a modern drawing—his own. The final exhibit of the presentation. “When the areas were cleared, the Muslims converted that space into what is now called the Marwani Mosque. Here’s an aerial view of the Temple Mount as it stands today. Using Joseph’s measurements, I’ve calculated the precise location of the crypt.”
On the schematic, Donovan had converted the ancient Roman measuring units, gradii—one gradus equal to almost three-quarters of a meter—to their modern metric equivalent. “I’ve marked in red the area that is now the Marwani Mosque, situated about eleven meters below the esplanade’s surface.” The shape of the subterranean mosque looked like a stacked bar chart.
Santelli grasped what Donovan was implying. “My God, it’s right next to the secret chamber.”
“Directly abutting the mosque’s rear wall. Muslim and Jewish archaeologists already suspect that chambers exist beneath Temple Mount and they’ll be performing surface scans to detect them.”
Santelli’s face was drained. “Then they will find this place.”
“It would be impossible to miss,” Donovan grimly confirmed. “If the relics described in the Ephemeris Conlusio are real, there’s a good chance that the physical remains of Christ may be unearthed in a few weeks. That is why I have come here today. To ask you... what can we do?”
“I think that’s all too clear, Patrick,” Santelli’s voice was brisk. “We must retrieve those relics from beneath Temple Mount. Over two billion Christians depend on the Gospels of Jesus Christ. To disrupt their faith is to disrupt social order. We have a very real responsibility here. This isn’t just a matter of theology.”
“But there’s no diplomatic way to obtain them,” Donovan reminded the cardinal. “The political situation in Israel is far too complicated.”
“Who said anything about diplomacy?” Santelli reached over to the intercom mounted on his desk. “Father Martin? In my phone list, you’ll find the number for a ‘Salvatore Conte.’ Please summon him to my office immediately.”
50
******
Veering off congested Via Nomentana through the Villa Torlonia park entrance, Giovanni Bersei slowed along a narrow bike path, the Vespa’s engine purring softly.
Here, beneath the sprawling English gardens where a flurry of joggers and cyclists went about their exercise regimens, a labyrinth of Jewish crypts formed just over nine kilometers of what had recently proved to be Rome’s
