beneath the Greek text written almost two millennia earlier by Joseph of Arimathea. It was this image that had drawn him here. As far as Bersei had been aware, this fresco was one-of-a-kind.
Impossible .
This commingling of Jewish and Christian motifs was overwhelming enough, but the fact that Joseph was somehow linked to this place was mind-boggling. Bersei lowered the light along the wall to a fresco of the Ark of the Covenant. Surely all these images were related. There was a clear message Joseph had left here. But what did he and Jesus have in common with the Tabernacle and the Ark of the Covenant? The possibilities were tantalizing.
Turning his attention to an opening in the cubiculum’s rear wall, he made his way into another chamber. If the place followed standard crypt design, this funerary preparation room would adjoin a burial room, or cella. Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that the corpses of the family who owned the cubiculum would have also occupied the cella.
He could barely control his excitement. Had he found the crypt of Joseph of Arimathea?
He moved forward into the rear chamber. As anticipated, the walls of this space were cleanly carved into loculi.
Amazing.
The beam of light shifted as Bersei counted the niches. Ten.
Nine of the shelves were fairly plain, spare some ornamental stone moldings. But on the rear wall, one loculus stood out. Most anthropologists would have quickly surmised this to be the burial spot of the family patriarch. But having seen the Jesus ossuary up close, Bersei immediately noticed the intricate rosettes and hatch patterns that framed this particular niche. Undoubtedly, it was the handiwork of the same stone craftsman who had decorated the ossuary.
Awestruck, Bersei paced forward, mouth agape. His imagination running wild, he pointed the light into the carved grotto, just large enough to store a prostrate body. Empty, of course. Now the light caught a symbol carved into the top edge of the frame. A dolphin wrapped around a trident.
Extraordinary.
Could Joseph of Arimathea have really transported Christ’s body back to Rome after the crucifixion? And if so, why? Bersei tried to wrap his head around the gigantic idea. Protection perhaps? But wasn’t there an empty tomb near Golgotha in Jerusalem? Maybe this could explain why the gospels said it had been found empty.
It actually seemed to make some sense. If Joseph’s family lived in Rome’s Jewish ghetto, it would have certainly been much safer to secret Christ’s body here, far away from the watchful eye of the Jewish Council and Pontius Pilate. Especially if customary burial rituals were to take place: rituals that involved shelving the corpse for up to a year.
“Dr. Bersei,” a sharp voice abruptly invaded the dead silence.
Startled, Bersei jumped and pivoted, swinging the light behind him. Half-expecting to see a ghastly apparition looking to punish him for his invasion of the tomb, he was even more terrified when the cylinder of light played on Salvatore Conte’s hard features. Having appeared without the slightest sound and dressed completely in black, it was if Conte had materialized from the wall of the crypt.
“Do you mind?” Squinting, Conte motioned at the flashlight.
Heart thundering hard against his ribs, Bersei lowered the beam to the floor. He noticed Conte wasn’t wearing shoes. At first glance, it also appeared that he wasn’t armed. “How did you get down here?” He feared he already knew the answer.
Conte ignored the question. “What are you looking for, doctor?”
Bersei didn’t answer.
Conte strode up to the anthropologist and snatched the photocopy from his hand.
“It’s merely research. Nothing more.” Cursing the fact that he was a horrible liar, Bersei retreated a step, his back pressing against the crypt wall.
“You must think I’m an idiot. I know you’ve taken files from the lab. Do you intend to give them to Detective Perardi too?”
Bersei went mute. How could Conte have known about Perardi? That call was made from his home. A sinking feeling came over him. Could the Vatican have been so ruthless as to tap his telephone?
“Stealing’s one thing. Stealing from the Vatican...Now that’s just unChristian. You surprise me, Dr. Bersei. But you are a smart man...I’ll give you that.” Conte turned and stepped away to the center of the chamber purposely displaying the Glock stuffed in his belt for dramatic effect. “Come here and give me some light.” He moved out into the center of the cubiculum.
Reluctantly, Giovanni Bersei shuffled into the antechamber and shone the light high up into its vault. The beam oscillated in his shaking hand.
Conte absorbed the fresco’s complex imagery for a few seconds, then compared it to the image on the paper. “So this is what you’ve found,” he said, impressed. “Good work. Who would have thought that box had origins here? I guess Joseph of Arimathea was pretty worldly after all.”
Bersei frowned.
“I take it you think he brought Jesus’s body here first,” Conte continued, “before boxing the bones and shipping them back to that sandbox in the Holy Land. I don’t even think the librarian or the pope’s cronies could have thought this far ahead.”
Bersei was stupefied by Conte’s candor, and his casual disregard for what this all really meant. More so, he was horrified that Conte had just confirmed his suspicions of the Vatican’s knowledge of the theft. Now he was certain they were directly involved and somehow, Salvatore Conte had made it all possible. The master thief. The silent stalker. The Israeli death count scrolled through his mind’s eye. Thirteen dead. What was one more life for a man like this? Especially after what amounted to an admission of foul play. Immediately, his thoughts jumped to his wife, and three daughters. His mouth went dry.
Calmly, Conte folded the paper and slipped it into his pants pocket. Then he was coolly reaching behind his
