“You’ve seen the same evidence as me.” Donovan stretched his arms. “What do you think?”
Conte smiled. “It’s not my job to think.”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“So why go to all this trouble?”
Donovan considered this. “The evidence is substantial. For all we know, these are the bones of Jesus Christ. Our duty is to protect the Church. Surely you can see that action had to be taken.”
“Well, if that’s Jesus in there”—the mercenary pointed to the car’s trunk—“I’d say you’re protecting an enormous lie.”
Donovan hadn’t expected a man like Salvatore Conte to understand the broader implications of all this. Two millennia of human history would be fundamentally affected by the ossuary and its contents. Humankind needed truths to bring people together, not controversies. He’d learned that firsthand on the streets of Belfast. Patrick Donovan was supremely well versed in Catholic history, but what he was defending had little to do with old books. There was a moral imperative that needed to be preserved so that what spiritual belief remained in this chaotic, materialistic world could remain strong. “I’m surprised. You don’t strike me as someone who’d really give a shit about that.”
Surprised by the priest’s language, Conte shot him a look. Suddenly the task before him seemed easier. “I don’t actually. Besides, if there was a God,” he said sarcastically, “men like you and me wouldn’t exist.” He continued digging.
Donovan was disgusted by the idea that he and Conte shared any commonalities, but knew that perhaps the mercenary was right. I am part of this. After all, Conte wasn’t operating autonomously—he was merely a foot soldier. And it wasn’t Conte who’d beseeched Santelli to take action to retrieve the ossuary—he had done that. Granted, he had never anticipated the extreme measures Santelli would employ, but he hadn’t intervened to stop him.
“What really happened to Dr. Bersei?” Donovan’s tone was forceful. Somehow he knew his own fate was linked to Conte’s answer.
“Don’t worry yourself about him.” Conte’s hard face was twisted. “He got what he deserved and I spared you the dirty work. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why was he in the catacombs?” Donovan felt a swell of anger.
Conte considered dodging the question, but knew that at this juncture, Donovan was no threat. “The scroll he found in the ossuary had a picture on it—and he figured out that it matched a fresco in the Torlonia catacombs. Apparently this Joseph of Arimathea character had a crypt in Rome. Seems Bersei thought that’s where Jesus was originally dried out. Who’d have thought?”
Donovan’s eyes went wide. Could it be? Had he found the actual tomb?
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” Conte added. “Don’t get too attached to the girl, either.” He liked it that each revelation weakened the priest’s resolve. “She’s only on temporary reprieve.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Santelli told me all that nonsense you fed her about the manuscript. Nice story. But you’re failing to grasp that you’ve already given her too much information. Did the cardinal tell you she skipped off with her laptop...loaded up with all the data?”
“No, he didn’t.” No wonder Santelli was a bundle of nerves about all this—the whole thing was on the verge of unraveling. Conte had been sloppy—the reports coming out of Jerusalem now included a computerized photofit image that bore an uncanny resemblance to him. Giovanni Bersei was dead. Now Hennesey had managed to leave with all the proof she needed to implicate the Vatican.
“It’s not good. I’ve got to fix that too and her blood will be on your hands.”
Hatred showed in the priest’s eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that, Donovan. You’re the one who insisted on bringing in outsiders.”
“We had no choice.”
“Exactly.”
“What are you going to do to her?”
Grinning deviously, Conte waited before responding. “Wouldn’t you just love to know. You sound like an infatuated lover, for Christ’s sake. Santelli feels that two deaths linked so closely to the Vatican would arouse too much suspicion. But if a freak accident should happen to befall the lovely geneticist back home in the States, the authorities would be none the wiser. Of course, I’ll be sure to show her a good time before she goes.” Then we’ll see who gets the last laugh, he thought. Conte sighed, as if bored. “Keep digging.”
Donovan’s jaw tensed as he thrust his shovel into the dirt, the latent anger pushed deep down in his soul fighting its way to the surface.
It took them almost three hours to carve out the five-foot-deep rectangular pit.
This pit could easily accommodate the ossuary and a body, Donovan thought.
At last Conte threw his shovel to the ground. “Looks good.” Both men were lathered in dirt and sweat. “Let’s get the ossuary.”
They walked back to the sedan.
Donovan turned to him. “Why are we burying this? Can’t we just destroy it on the ground?”
Without responding, Conte leaned into the trunk and lifted the ossuary’s lid. Resting on top of the bones was the Ephemeris Conlusio and two thick gray blocks that resembled molded clay.
Donovan pointed to the C-4. “Is that—”
