“May I?” Daniel questioned.
“Of course,” Luigi replied.
Daniel picked up the silver box. There was a small latch on its side, which he slid to the open position. Carefully, he lifted the lid. Stephanie leaned so she could see over his shoulder. Inside was a small, sealed, semitransparent glassine envelope containing a tiny but adequate mat of fibers of indeterminate color.
“Looks good,” Daniel said. He closed the lid and secured the latch. He handed the case to Stephanie, who slipped it into her shoulder bag along with their passports.
Fifteen minutes later, Daniel and Stephanie reemerged into the pale midday midwinter sunshine. They headed diagonally across San Carlo Square en route back to their hotel. Despite their jet lag, there was a spring to their step. Both felt mildly euphoric.
“Now, that couldn’t have been any easier,” Daniel commented.
“I’d have to agree,” Stephanie said.
“I would never remind you of your earlier pessimism,” Daniel teased. “I’d never do that.”
“Wait a second,” Stephanie chided. “We got the shroud sample with ease, but we’re still a long way from treating Butler. My worries are about the whole affair.”
“I think this little episode is just a harbinger of things to come.”
“I hope you are right.”
“What do you think we should do with the rest of the day?” Daniel asked. “Our flight to London is not until five after seven in the morning.”
“I need a short nap,” Stephanie said. “And you must need one as well. Why don’t we go back to the hotel, have a bite of lunch followed by a half hour of shut-eye, and then head out? There are a few things I’d like to see while we’re here, particularly the church where the shroud is housed.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Daniel said agreeably.
Michael Maloney hung back as far as he dared without losing Daniel and Stephanie. He was surprised at how quickly they were moving, and he had to keep pace. When he’d emerged from the café, he’d been lucky to catch sight of them, as they had practically already cleared the square.
At the moment the two Americans had left the café, Michael had conferred briefly with Luigi to encourage him to run the identities through the civil authorities and let him know on his cell phone as soon as any information was available. Michael said he intended to keep the Americans in sight or at least know their location until he was satisfied with the information.
When the Americans disappeared around a corner, Michael broke into a run until they were back in sight. He was intent on not losing them. Taking a direct clue from his mentor and boss, James Cardinal O’Rourke, Michael was treating his current commission with great seriousness. He strongly aspired to rising in the church hierarchy, and to date, things had been going as planned. First, there had been the opportunity to study in Rome. Next had come the recognition of his talents by the then Bishop O’Rourke, the invitation to join his staff, and the elevation of the bishop to archbishop. At this point in his career, Michael knew his success depended solely on pleasing his powerful superior, and he intuitively knew this assignment concerning the shroud was a golden opportunity. Thanks to its importance to the cardinal, it was affording him a unique circumstance to demonstrate his unswerving loyalty, dedication, and even his ability to improvise, given the lack of specific guidelines.
Emerging into the Piazza Carlo Alberto, Michael surmised the couple was headed toward the Grand Belvedere. He quickened his pace to almost a jog in order to be right behind the Americans as they entered. Inside, he held back as they boarded an elevator, and then watched the indicator as it rose to the fourth floor. Satisfied, Michael retreated to the sitting area within the hotel’s lobby. He sat down on a velvet couch, picked up a copy of the Corriere della Sera, and began to read while keeping one eye on the bank of elevators. So far, so good, he thought.
He didn’t have to wait long. The couple reemerged and then went into the dining room. Michael responded by moving from one couch to another, which afforded a better view of the dining room entrance. He was confident that no one had paid him the slightest heed. He knew that in Italy, wearing Roman Catholic priestly garb gave one both access and anonymity.
A half hour later, when the couple came out of the dining room, Michael had to smile. A half hour for lunch was so American. He knew that the Italians in the room were all settled in for at least two hours. The Americans went back to the elevator and once more rose up to the fourth floor.
Michael had considerably longer to wait on this occasion. Finishing the newspaper, he looked around for something else to read. Not finding anything and reluctant to risk going to the sundries shop, he began thinking about what he would do if the information he hoped to get from Luigi was not appropriate. He wasn’t even sure what wasn’t going to be appropriate. What he expected to learn was that at least one of the pair worked in some capacity for Senator Butler or possibly an organization that had ties to the senator. He remembered the senator specifically saying he would dispatch an agent to get the sample. Exactly what he meant by “agent” remained to be seen.
Michael stretched and looked at his watch. It was now going on three in the afternoon, and his stomach began to growl. He’d not eaten, save for the bit of pastry at the Caffè Torino. While his mind teased him with images of his favorite pastas, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d deliberately turned off its ringer. In a bit of a panic lest he miss the call, he got the phone out and answered. It was Luigi.
“The report just came in from my contacts with the immigration people,” Luigi said. “I don’t believe you are going to like what I have learned.”
“Oh!” Michael commented. He tried to remain calm. Unfortunately, at that moment the Americans stepped from the elevator with coats on and guidebooks in hand, obviously ready to go on an outing. Fearing they might take a taxi, which would add an element of difficulty, Michael struggled to get into his own coat while keeping the phone pressed to his ear. The Americans moved quickly, as they had done earlier. “Hang on, Luigi!” Michael said, interrupting the monsignor. “I’m on the move here.” With one arm in his coat, Michael had gotten the free sleeve caught in the revolving door. He had to back up to free himself.
“Prego!” the doorman said, as he lent a hand.
“Mi scusi,” Michael responded. Freed from the door, he rushed outside and was rewarded to see the Americans passing the taxi stand and heading toward the northwest corner of the square. He slowed to a fast walk.
“Sorry, Luigi,” Michael said into the phone. “The couple just decided to leave the hotel the moment you called. What were you saying?”
“I said they are both scientists,” Luigi responded.
Michael felt his pulse quicken. “That’s not good news!”
“I didn’t think so either. Apparently, their names came right up when the Italian authorities contacted their American counterparts asking for information. They are both Ph.D.s in the biomolecular arena, with Daniel Lowell more of a chemist and Stephanie D’Agostino more of a biologist. They are apparently well known in their fields, he more than she. Since they both have the same home address, they are apparently cohabitating.”
“Good grief!” Michael commented.
“They certainly don’t sound like normal couriers.”
“This is a worst-case scenario.”
“I agree. With their backgrounds, they must be planning on some sort of testing. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Michael said. “I’ve got to think.”
“Let me know if I can help!”
“I’ll be in touch,” Michael said before terminating the call.
Although Michael had just told Luigi he didn’t know what he was going to do, that wasn’t quite true. He had already decided he was going to retrieve the shroud sample; he just didn’t know how. What he did know is that he wanted to do it himself so that when he reported back to Cardinal O’Rourke, he could take full credit f
or saving his Savior’s blood from further scientific indignity.
The Americans reached the expansive Piazza Castello but did not slow down. Michael’s first thought was that they planned to visit the Palazzo Reale, the former residence of the House of Savoy, but he changed his mind when the Americans skirted the Piazzeta Reale to reach the Piazza Giovanni.
“Of course!” Michael said out loud. He knew the Duomo di San Giovanni stood on the square, and the church was the current home of the shroud following the 1997 fire in its chapel. Michael followed a little farther behind, to be certain of the Americans’ destination. As soon as he saw them mount the front steps of the cathedral, he turned around and began retracing his steps. Assuming his charges would be suitably engaged away from their hotel for the time being, Michael thought he’d better take advantage of the opportunity. If he were to retrieve the shroud sample, this might be the best time, if not the only time, assuming they would be leaving in the morning.
Although Michael was already slightly out of breath, he pushed himself to quicken his pace. He wanted to get back to the Grand Belvedere as quickly as possible. Despite his obvious inexperience with intrigue in general and with burglary in particular, he had to find out which room in the hotel Daniel and Stephanie occupied, manage to get into it, and find the silver case, all within a couple hours.
“Is this the actual shroud we’re looking at?” Daniel asked in a whisper. There were a number of other people in the cathedral, but they were either kneeling in prayer in the pews or lighting candles in front of religious statuary. The only sounds were the occasional echoes of heels against the marble floor as people moved about.
“No, it’s not the shroud,” Stephanie whispered back. “It’s a full-sized photographic replica.” She was holding the guidebook open to the proper page. She and Daniel were facing a glass-front alcove that encompassed the first floor of the north transept of the church. One story above the enclosure was the curtained box from which the former Dukes and Duchesses of Savoy witnessed the celebration of the Mass.
The photograph was displayed landscape-wise. The heads of the front and back image of the crucified man almost touched in the center, which was explained by the man having been placed supine on the cloth and then the cloth having been folded over on top of him. The frontal image was to the left. The photograph was positioned on what appeared to be a table fourteen feet long and four feet wide, draped to the floor with pleated blue fabric.
“The photograph is sitting on the new conservation case that houses the shroud,” Stephanie explained. “It has a hydraulic system, so that when the shroud is to be displayed, the top can be rotated upward, and the relic can be viewed through bulletproof glass.”
“I remember reading about it,” Daniel commented. “It sounds like an impressive setup. For the first time in the shroud’s long life, it rests completely horizontal in a controlled atmosphere.”
“It’s truly amazing that the image has lasted as long as it has, considering what it has been through.”
“Looking at this full-size photo, I find the image more difficult to discern than I imagined. In fact, if this is what the shroud itself looks like, it’s somewhat anticlimactic. It can be seen and appreciated better in the book you got.”
“And better still in the negative,” Stephanie added.
“Apparently, the image hasn’t faded. What’s happened is the background has yellowed, so the contrast is diminished.”
“I hope the new conservation case keeps that from happening any more,” Stephanie remarked. “Well, so much for where the shroud rests.” She turned and glanced around the cathedral’s interior. “I thought we might want to stroll around in here, but for an Italian Renaissance Church, this is rather plain.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Daniel said. “Let’s move on. How about taking a peek at the royal palace? The interior is supposed to be quintessentially rococo.”
Stephanie looked at Daniel askance. “When have you become such an expert on architecture and interior design?”
Daniel laughed. “I just read it in the guidebook before we left.”
“Well, I’d love to see the palace, except I have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
Stephanie looked down at her feet. “I forgot to put on some decent walking shoes instead of these that I wore to lunch. I’m afraid my feet are going to be killing me if we traipse around all afternoon. I’m sorry, but would you mind terribly if we went back to the hotel briefly?”
“As far as I’m concerned, now that we got the shroud sample, we’re just killing time. I don’t care what we do.”
“Thanks,” Stephanie said, relieved. Daniel could be impatient with such lapses. “I really am sorry. I should have known better. And while we’re there, I’m going to put on another sweater. It’s colder out than I thought.”
Except in conjunction with some harmless pranks as a college student, Father Michael Maloney had never knowingly broken a civil law, and the fact that he was now about to do so caused more anxiety than he had anticipated. Not only was he shaky and perspiring, but he also had enough epigastric distress to wish he had an antacid. Adding to his burden was the concern about time. He certainly did not want to be caught flagrante delicto by the Americans. Although he was confident they would be away for two or more hours on their sightseeing foray, he decided to limit himself to one hour just to be sure. The mere thought of being surprised made his knees feel weak.
As he had approached the Grand Belvedere, he had no idea how he was going to accomplish his goal, at least not until he had passed a flower shop in the same square with the hotel. Ducking into the shop, he had inquired if one of their prepared flower arrangements could be delivered immediately to the hotel. When he’d gotten a positive reply, he picked out an arrangement, addressed an envelope with the Americans’ names, and signed the card: Welcome to the Grand Belvedere, the management.
And now, five minutes later, while Michael was sitting on the same sofa in the hotel lobby he’d occupied earlier, the flower arrangement came through the revolving door. Lifting his newspaper to cover his face, Michael watched surreptitiously as the same woman he’d dealt with in the flower shop delivered the flowers to the bell desk. One of the bellmen signed for them, and the woman left.
Unfortunately, for the next ten minutes nothing happened. The flowers stood on the bell desk as the bellmen engaged in animated conversation with each other.
“Come on!” Michael voiced silently while gritting his teeth. He wanted to go over to the bell desk and complain, but he dared not. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. His plan was to take full advantage of his priestly garb to appear harmless, if not relatively invisible.
Finally, one of the bellmen checked the envelope on the flowers and then went behind the bell desk. Michael could tell he was checking a computer screen by the reflection of light on the man’s face. A moment later, he came from behind the desk, picked up the flowers, and headed for the elevator. Michael put his newspaper aside and stayed right behind him.
The bellman nodded a greeting to Michael as the doors closed. Michael smiled back. At the fourth floor, the bellman exited and Michael did the same. Keeping a little distance between himself and the bellman, Michael followed. When the bellman stopped outside room 408 and knocked, Michael passed by. The bellman nodded and smiled. Michael did the same.
Michael rounded a corner and stopped. Carefully, he looked back. He saw the bellman knock again before getting out a ring of keys on a chain. He opened the door and disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared sans flowers, he was whistling softly. He closed the door and walked back to the elevators.
When the bellman was gone, Michael walked back to room 408. He didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, and it wasn’t. Looking down the length of the corridor, he saw a cleaning cart. Taking a deep breath and blowing up his cheeks momentarily to bolster his courage, Michael headed toward the cart. It was positioned next to a door held
open by a doorstop.
Michael knocked tentatively on the open door. “Scusi!” he called out. He heard a television playing in the background. Entering the room, he saw two middle-aged women in brown dress uniforms making the bed. “Scusi!” Michael called, considerably more loudly.
The women responded as if shocked. Both perceptively blanched. One recovered enough to run over and turn off the television.
Marshaling his best Italian, Michael asked the women if they could help him. He explained he’d left his key in room 408, and he needed to make an immediate telephone call. He wanted to know if they would be so kind as to open his door to keep him from having to go down to the front desk.
The women exchanged a confused glance. It took Michael a moment to realize that they spoke very little Italian. He explained his supposed predicament again, speaking slowly and distinctly. On this occasion, one of the women got the message, and to Michael’s relief held up her passkeys. Michael nodded.
As if to make up for the communication difficulties, the woman pushed past Michael and practically ran down the hall. It was all Michael could do to keep up with her. She unlocked room 408 and held the door open. Michael thanked her as he stepped over the threshold. The door closed.
Michael exhaled. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. He backed up to lean against the door as he surveyed the room. The drapes were open, and there was plenty of light. There was more luggage than he expected, although all but two of the bags were still zippered or latched as if they had yet to be opened. Unfortunately, there was no silver box visible on the bureau, the desk, or the nightstands.
Michael could feel his pulse racing. He was also perspiring copiously. “I’m not good at this,” he whispered. He desperately wanted to find the silver box and leave. It took all his willpower to stay in the room.
Pushing off from the door, he went first to the desk. Centered on the blotter between two laptop shoulder bags was a room key for 408. After a moment’s hesitation, Michael picked it up and pocketed it. Rapidly, he searched the laptop bags: no silver case. It took only a moment for him to go through the desk drawers. Save for the hotel stationery, they were empty. Next was the bureau. It too was empty, except for laundry forms and plastic laundry bags. The small drawers of the nightstands were also empty. He checked the bathroom, but no silver box. Looking into the closet, he saw a safe and breathed a sigh of relief. The door was ajar and it was empty. He checked the pockets of a man’s jacket hanging on the rod: nothing.