Intervention

10

12:53 P.M., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2008

ROME

(6:53 A.M., NEW YORK CITY)

Shawn looked out the window as the Egyptair Boeing 737–500 made its final approach into Rome’s Fiumicino airport. He could see nothing but the plane’s wing. It was as if they were in a San Francisco fog bank. They had been circling the airport for almost a half-hour.

Other than the current tension, the day’s travel had been enjoyable. They easily passed through Egyptian passport control and security. Shawn was a bit concerned because the codex was in his carry-on, wrapped in a towel in a Four Seasons pillowcase. If it had been found, Shawn would have been disappointed, although he didn’t worry about legal consequences. He was prepared to tell the truth — that he’d bought it as a souvenir — and then lie that he’d been sure it was a fake like most everything else sold in Khan el-Khalili antiquities shops.

Saturninus’s letter was a different story. Shawn had carefully covered each sheet of papyrus with clear plastic wrap he’d gotten from the Four Seasons kitchen, and then glued each between separate pages of a large, coffee table-style photography book of ancient Egyptian monuments hastily purchased in the hotel’s gift shop. Through security Shawn had carried it in full sight in his hands. If the letter had been discovered there would have been a definite problem, but Shawn felt there was little risk. To Sana he’d downplayed it completely, falsely saying he’d done it in the past without the slightest difficulty. “As long as the book goes through the scanner, they’re happy,” he’d said to reassure her.

There was a sudden hard bump that made Shawn start. The plane had dropped below the low cloud cover. Through the now-rain-streaked window, Shawn could see soggy green fields and traffic-clogged roads. Despite it being the middle of the day, most of the vehicles had their headlights on. Looking ahead, he could dimly see the airport and, more important, the oncoming runway. A moment later, the plane touched down and the engines reversed.

Shawn let out a minor sigh of relief and glanced at Sana. She smiled. “Doesn’t look like the best weather,” she commented, leaning forward so she could see out.

“It can be rainy in winter.”

“I don’t think it’s going to matter to us,” Sana said, adding a wink to her smile.

“I think you’re right,” Shawn agreed. He reached over and gave his wife’s hand a squeeze, and she squeezed back. Both were tense with anticipation.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sana said. “Why don’t I go to baggage claim, and you go get the rental car? It’s got to save us time.”

“That’s a super idea,” Shawn said. He glanced back at his wife. He was genuinely surprised and appreciative. Usually, she left all the planning to him. Now she was being proactive and offering to help. To his delight, it seemed that she was equally as excited as he was. She had peppered him with questions about early Christianity, Judaism, and even Near Eastern pagan religion throughout the flight.

“So, what do you think our schedule should be once we leave the airport?” Sana asked eagerly.

“We’ll check in to the hotel, have a bite to eat, then find a place to get some basic tools. Then I think we should check out the necropolis or Scavi, so there will be no surprises when we sneak back tonight to get the ossuary. As I recall, the Scavi is open until five-thirty or thereabouts.”

“Like what kind of tools?”

“A hammer and a chisel and a couple of flashlights. Maybe a battery-powered cutting device, just to be sure.”

“For cutting what?”

“Soft rock and maybe brick. I’m hoping we don’t need it. Power tools were actually banned by the pope when he authorized the modern excavation, to avoid any collateral damage, but we’re not going to worry about that detail. Where we’ll be working, the only thing we might damage is the ossuary itself.”

“Aren’t you expecting we’ll be digging in just plain dirt?” Sana asked. In her mind, the idea of cutting into rock made the scope of the project significantly more daunting.

“No, it’s going to be more like hardpan, a claylike layer mixed with gravel but highly compacted to seem like very soft stone. As I mentioned, the tomb that Peter’s followers made for him on the Vaticanus hill adjacent to Nero’s circus was an underground chamber with a barrel vault. They dug a large hole and then built two parallel brick foundation walls oriented in an east-west direction. Saturninus’s letter says that the ossuary was placed midway at the base of the north wall and concealed before the excavation hole outside the walls was filled back in.”

“And the base of the north wall is where we’re going to find the ossuary?”

“That’s right. During the last major excavation, more than fifty years ago, the archaeologists tunneled under that north wall to get inside the original tomb’s chamber, to avoid destroying the mishmash of graves, altars, and trophies clustered above Peter’s underground tomb. Starting from soon after his death until not that long ago, people clamored to be buried as close as possible to him. Anyway, it’s in the roof of that tunnel where we are going to find the ossuary.”

“I’m having trouble picturing all this.”

“For good reason. Soon after Peter’s death, the whole hill became not just the place for future popes to be buried but a popular Roman necropolis filled with graves and mausoleums. Today, because of its location beneath Saint Peter’s, only a small portion of it has been excavated. And within a twenty-foot or so cubic area right around Peter’s tomb, there is such a hodgepodge of ancient construction, you can’t believe it. To make things more complicated, sometime in the first century a monument called the Tropaion of Peter was built just above his grave. Then in the fourth century, Constantine built his basilica around this monument, using it as an altar. During the Renaissance, Saint Peter’s was built on top of Constantine’s basilica, locating the high altar directly atop what had been Constantine’s altar, now some forty feet above the floor of Peter’s original tomb.”

“It sounds like a layer cake,” Sana said.

“That’s a good analogy,” Shawn agreed.

Once inside the terminal and through passport control, Shawn and Sana split up, with Sana heading for the baggage area and Shawn for the rental-car stands. Within half an hour they were on their way.

The drive into Rome was fine until they got into the city limits. Rain, traffic, and the lack of a decent map left them praying they’d eventually come across a recognizable monument.

After fifteen white-knuckled minutes, they spotted the Colosseum. Shawn quickly pulled over, and from there they plotted their way to the top of the Spanish Steps and the Hotel Hassler.

The route they’d chosen took them along the Foro Romano to the wedding cake monument to Vittorio Emanuele II. From there they headed north on the busy Via del Corso.

“My, this looks different than it does in the sunshine,” Sana said, eyeing the pedestrians as they scurried about, huddled under their black umbrellas. “The dark clouds, the rain, and all the ruins make it seem sinister. Certainly not the Hollywood image as the city of love.”

After several more key turns they found themselves on Via Sistina and then in front of the hotel. The doorman immediately came to Shawn’s side.

“Are you checking in?” he asked graciously.

When Shawn indicated yes, the doorman waved to a colleague, who emerged with a second umbrella to shelter Sana while a porter gathered the luggage.

Once inside, they were whisked through check-in. Shawn was particularly pleased that the overnight package sent by his assistant from the Metropolitan Museum was waiting for him.

Shawn immediately began chatting up the attractive desk clerk.

“You’re not Italian, I don’t believe,” he said. “You have a most charming accent.”

“I’m Dutch.”

“Really,” Shawn said. “Amsterdam is one of my favorite cities.”

“I see you are from New York,” the receptionist said, cleverly diverting the conversation away from herself and to Shawn.

Oh, please! Sana thought. Impatiently, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. She was afraid Shawn would launch into his life history. Thankfully, the well-trained receptionist expertly handled the situation by coming out from behind the counter to show them to their room, while maintaining a continuous flow of conversation describing the hotel’s amenities, including the restaurant and its spectacular view.

The room was on the third floor. Shawn went to the window, which looked out over the Spanish Steps. “Come out here and see this,” Shawn called to Sana, who’d gone into the bathroom to see if it was as posh as everything else.

“Pretty amazing, wouldn’t you say?” Shawn said as Sana joined him and both gazed out at the Spanish Steps. Despite the rain, tourists were taking pictures of themselves. “Even though we can’t quite see it, we’re facing the dome of Saint Peter’s. If it doesn’t clear by morning, we’ll have to come back someday when it’s not raining so you can appreciate it.”

Turning back inside, Sana unpacked and Shawn opened his package, dumping the contents on the desk. “Thank you, Claire!” he said, surveying the objects.

Sana came up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Did you get everything we need?”

“I did. Here’s my Vatican picture ID,” Shawn said, handing her the laminated card.

“This picture looks like a mug shot,” Sana joked.

“Okay, enough teasing,” Shawn joked back, snatching the photo from her hands. In its place he handed her the access permit to the Vatican’s necropolis, the Scavi, meaning “excavation” in Italian. It was a very formal document, complete with the official seal of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology. “This is what is going to get us past the Swiss Guards tonight.”

“I’m impressed,” Sana said, handing the paper back. “Things seem to be falling into place. What about the keys?”

Shawn held them up and jangled them before pocketing them along with the ID card and the access permit.

“Looks like we are in business.”

A few minutes later, Shawn and Sana headed down to the concierge’s desk and asked where they could get a quick bite.

“Caffè Greco,” one of the two concierges said without hesitation, the other concierge nodding in full agreement. “It’s just down the steps and straight on Via Condotti. It’s on the right.”

“Can you also tell me where I can find a hardware store?” Shawn asked.

The concierges eyed each other quizzically. This was a first.

After some charades and a quick dictionary consult, Shawn and Sana were directed to a nearby ferramenta called Gino’s on the Via del Babuino.

With map in hand and two hotel umbrellas, the couple first went to Caffè Greco, where they made short work of lunch. Next they used the hotel’s map to seek out Gino’s ferramenta shop, which was, as the concierges promised, a short walk up Via del Babuino. As they approached the shop, the dusty window display of tools and housewares appeared as if it hadn’t been changed in years. When the door closed behind them, they were instantly enveloped in a palpable silence. The interior was as dusty as the window display. At the register were a half-dozen customers patiently and noiselessly waiting for service. A lone employee scanned a thick catalog.

Shawn and Sana were taken aback by the silence. It was heavy, like a church. What minimal sound there was seemed to be dampened by the plethora of merchandise, much of which was stacked in variously sized cardboard boxes. A black-and-white cat slept curled up on a humidifier carton. The atmosphere was a far cry from the hardware stores Shawn remembered from his youth growing up in the American Midwest. There, hardware stores were usually busy and loud, as much a hangout as a place to buy hardware.

Shawn motioned for Sana to follow him into the depths of the store. “Let’s do our shopping ourselves,” he whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, but then in a normal voice said, “It’s ridiculous to be whispering. I suppose I was just following the old adage: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Shawn first went to the area where the cleaning products and utensils were located, Sana following. He handed two stackable buckets to her, then moved on to flashlights and batteries. He selected two large torches with several sets of replacement batteries for each. As he was putting them into the nestled buckets, his eye caught something he’d not thought of: yellow plastic construction helmets with battery-powered headlamps. “I hadn’t thought of headlamps,” he admitted. “But they could come in quite handy.” He tried one on, Sana doing the same.

They laughed at each other conspiratorially.

“Let’s get them,” Shawn said. Sana nodded, and both of them left them on as they moved on to the tool section. There Shawn got a masonry hammer and several masonry chisels. Then he saw three other things he’d not thought of but which would be undeniably helpful: plastic eye-protection goggles, work gloves, and knee protectors. The last item he selected was a Black & Decker drill with a battery pack and a number of interchangeable cutting and drill bits. With that, they paid for their selections and headed back to the hotel, where they stashed them. Shawn also plugged in the battery pack to charge.

“Look at the time,” Sana said. “We’ve only got an hour.”

“It will be close,” Shawn said, checking his watch.

“Maybe we should plan to stay in Rome an extra day. The Scavi might be closed before we get there.”

Shawn glanced at his wife with surprise. Just the day before, she’d been eager to go home immediately. Now she was the one suggesting they stay yet another day. “What about the experiment you were so worried about?”

“You’ve convinced me how important this could turn out to be.”

“I’m pleased,” he said. “But let’s give it a try to get to the Scavi today. To tell you the truth, I’m so excited I can’t put it off. I might even insist we try to get the ossuary tonight whether or not we’re able to reconnoiter this afternoon.”

“Okay, fine,” Sana said. “Let’s give it a go.”

Despite it being rush hour, the Hassler doorman hailed them a taxi in minutes. As they were driven across the city Shawn and Sana were too tense to make conversation.

The cabbie, perhaps noting his passengers constantly checking their watches, drove like he was a Formula One racer. Weaving in and out of the traffic, he was able to deposit them just shy of twenty minutes at the Arch of the Bells, or Arco delle Campane, in the shadow of Saint Peter’s. The rain was now coming down in sheets. Shawn and Sana huddled together under a single umbrella and made a run for the relative protection of the arch. The moment they stepped out of the rain, their further progress was blocked by two Swiss Guards dressed in their colorful black-and-orange vertical-striped uniforms accented by white ruffs and floppy black berets. One of the guards accepted Shawn’s Vatican ID, checked the photo against Shawn’s rain-soaked face, handed it back, saluted, and waved them in. There had been no words.

Emerging into the open, back into the wind-whipped rain, they ran across the cobblestoned piazza abutting the south side of Saint Peter’s basilica. Now they were fighting not only the rain but also the torrents of water issuing forth from the church’s gargoyles as well as splashes of water from fast-moving traffic heading out of Vatican City.

Gesturing with his head, Shawn said, “Can you see that flat black stone with a white border set into the ground we are passing?”

“Yes,” Sana said without much enthusiasm. She was intent on getting out of the weather.

“Remind me to tell you about it when we get indoors.”

Luckily, they didn’t have far to go, and a few moments later they ducked in under a portico. They whisked the water off themselves as best they could and stomped their feet.

“That black stone out there in the piazza is supposed to mark the center of Nero’s circus, where many early Christians, including Saint Peter, were martyred. For many years the Egyptian obelisk that’s now in the center of Piazza San Pietro stood there.”

“Let’s get inside,” Sana said. She wasn’t interested in touristic details. She was wet and chilled, and night had fallen.

A few steps away, they entered the office of the Necropoli Vaticana. Despite it looking ramshackle to Sana to the point of resembling an inner-city principal’s office, she was glad to be out of the weather. A large old-fashioned steam radiator hissed and thumped in the corner. Facing them was a counter fronting a battered government-issue desk. A man’s head bobbed up. His expression suggested he was not happy about being disturbed.

“The Scavi is closed for the day,” he said with a heavy accent. “The last tour left half an hour ago.”

Without speaking, Shawn handed over his Vatican ID and the access permit. The man examined the permit closely. When he read Shawn’s name his eyes lit up. He raised his head and smiled. “Professor Daughtry! Buona sera.” As it turned out, the man recognized Shawn’s name from his work at the site five years previously. He introduced himself as Luigi Romani.

Shawn vaguely recognized the name.

“Are you going down into the Scavi?” Luigi asked.

“Yes, just for a short visit. We just came into Rome this afternoon, and we’re leaving tomorrow. I wanted to show my wife some of the more interesting details. We won’t be long.”

“Will you be exiting back this way or through the basilica? I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“In that case, we’ll leave through the basilica with the tour group that’s down there.”

“Do you need me to let you in?”

“No, I have my keys, unless the locks have been changed.”

“Changed?” Luigi laughed. “Things like that never change.”

Leaving the Scavi office, Shawn led the way down a gently sloping, completely deserted marble corridor. “We’re actually about ten feet or so below the floor level of the basilica above us.”

“The fact that Mr. Romani recognized you — does that matter?”

“I can’t imagine,” Shawn replied in a hushed voice. “Since no one but us knows about the ossuary, if we find it and take it, no one’s going to be the wiser.”

They reached a flight of marble steps that descended more than a full story. Shawn started down.

Sana hesitated, pointing ahead. “Where does this corridor lead?” “It winds up in the newer crypt beneath Saint Peter’s.”

At the base of the stairs was a narrow stone passageway blocked by a locked metal grate. “Here’s the test!” Shawn said, pulling out one of the sets of keys. He remembered the correct key, and it slid into the lock with ease. “So far so good,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation to bolster his courage, he tried to twist the key, and to his joy it did so with ease.

After passing through a humidity-control door and descending more stairs, they reached what had been ground level in ancient Roman times.

“It is quite humid,” Sana commented. She wasn’t pleased.

“Does that bother you?”

“Only if the seal on the ossuary is broken.”

“Right!” Shawn said, realizing that Sana’s interest was primarily to find ancient DNA.

“Why don’t they have more light down here?” Sana complained. “It feels claustrophobic.” The illumination was very dim, mostly from recessed lighting at floor level. The ceiling was completely lost in shadow.

“For atmosphere, I suppose. To tell the truth, I don’t really know. It gets even more claustrophobic around Peter’s tomb. Are you going to be able to handle it?”

“I think so. Where are we now?”

“We’re in the middle of the Roman necropolis that Constantine had completely filled in the fourth century to form the foundation for his basilica. What’s been excavated is this single east-west path between two rows of tombs. Most were first- through fourth-century pagan mausoleums, although a few Christian mosaic images and inscriptions have been found.”

“This place gives me the creeps. Where’s Peter’s tomb, so we can check it out and get on our way?”

Shawn gestured to his left, up the ancient Vaticanus hill. After they’d walked for fifty feet he pointed to a Roman sarcophagus in a dark corner. “If we have to store any debris, I thought we’d hide it in there. Okay?”

“Sure,” Sana said, curious why he was even asking her.

“Are you interested in getting a closer look at any of these ancient Roman tombs?” Shawn asked. “Some of them have interesting decorations.”

“I want to see Peter’s grave and where we will be working,” Sana replied. Her pant legs felt sodden, and her whole body was cold.

“This is the ‘red wall,’ ” Shawn explained as they rounded the crumbling end of a brick wall. “We’re getting close. The wall is part of what’s considered Peter’s tomb complex.” To Sana, it didn’t look particularly special. Ahead they now could hear a tour guide lecturing.

“Stop a minute,” Shawn said, where there was a breach in the red wall. “Take a look in this hole. Can you see a white marble column?”

Sana did as she was told. She could easily see the column Shawn referred to beyond the red wall, as it was illuminated. It appeared to be about six inches in diameter.

“That’s part of the Tropaion of Peter that was built over Saint Peter’s tomb. So, where we are standing now is the floor level of Constantine’s basilica.”

“So Peter’s tomb is below us.”

“That’s right. Below us and to our left.”

“Where will we be looking for the ossuary?”

“We’re now on the south side of the structure. We have to go around to the north side.”

“Let’s do it,” Sana said.

As they skirted the complex and arrived at the north side, they ran into the tour group, which included about a dozen adults of widely varying ages. The only unifying aspect was that everyone spoke English. Some were listening to the guide, others were staring off into space, while still others rudely carried on their own hushed conversations. It was hardly the kind of group Sana expected.

Shawn waited for a break in the guide’s description before urging Sana forward to follow the tour group. After ten feet, on their right they came to what the guide had been describing. It was a bluish-white plaster wall with a profusion of incised epigraphs one on top of the other, such that it was difficult to discern any one epigraph in particular. “It’s called the graffiti wall,” Shawn explained in a hushed voice. “As I told you, during the last excavation, in order to get into Peter’s tomb without disturbing anything, in particular this graffiti wall, one had to tunnel under the wall, and then under the wall that supports the original vault over Saint Peter’s tomb. The ossuary is going to be between the two walls, back close to the red wall, which cuts across both at right angles.”

“My goodness,” Sana exclaimed. She shook her head in exasperation. It was too confusing.

“I know,” Shawn said sympathetically. “It’s extremely complex. The site has been added to and altered continuously over almost two thousand years. I might not be explaining it well, but I know what I’m talking about. My only concern is that when the red wall was in the process of being built by the Romans around the turn of the first century, they might have inadvertently stumbled across the ossuary and either moved it or destroyed it. There’s no doubt in my mind that its original location had to have been close to the red wall, which is just behind us.”

“Where does the tunnel start?” Sana questioned as she gazed around the chamber they were in.

“The tunnel is directly below where we are currently standing. At the moment, we are at the level of the floor of Constantine’s basilica. We have to descend to the level of the floor of Peter’s tomb. To get there we have to go into the next chamber. Are you ready to move on?”

“More than ready,” Sana said. Thanks to her discomfort, she wanted to see where they would be working later that night, then leave. Under the circumstances, the three-dimensional details of what Shawn was patiently describing were not registering.

Shawn led the way down a number of metal steps into a relatively large room, where the tour group had reassembled. The guide was explaining that the Plexiglas boxes seen through a small wall opening into Peter’s tomb contained the bones of the saint.

“Is that true?” Sana whispered to Shawn.

“Pope Pius the Twelfth said they were,” Shawn answered softly. “They were found scattered in the tomb within a V-shaped niche in the red wall. I think what swayed the pope was the lack of a skull. Saint Peter’s head historically was supposed to have been in the basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano.”

“Okay, so where is the tunnel?” Sana asked impatiently. She’d had enough history for the moment.

“Follow me!” Shawn said. They passed behind the tour group and approached a large decklike structure reached by several descending steps. It had a gridlike metal frame and handrails. The surface was comprised of large squares of clear three-quarter-inch glass. Standing on the deck, one could look down to the lowest point of the excavation about five feet below.

“That’s the level of the floor of Peter’s tomb,” Shawn explained. “To get to the tunnel, we have to go down there and then back under where we are standing in front of the graffiti wall.”

“How are we going to get down there?” Sana questioned, as her eyes ran around the transparent deck. There didn’t seem to be any opening.

“The glass panel in the far corner lifts up. It’s heavy as hell, but we’ll be able to do it together. What do you think? Will you be able to manage all this?”

The thought of crawling through a tunnel pricked at Sana’s mild claustrophobia. Knowing she was already some forty to fifty feet underground didn’t help.

“Having second thoughts?” Shawn asked when Sana didn’t answer.

“Are these lights going to be on?” Sana asked in a scratchy whisper. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth to try to drum up a bit of saliva. Her throat had suddenly gone dry.

“We can’t have the lights on,” Shawn said. “They are on an automatic timer, and if someone were to open either of the doors to the necropolis and see the lights, they’d know something was wrong. Besides, we need the lights off to act as a warning system. If anyone goes through the basilica while we are using the chisels, they might hear it, despite it being forty or fifty feet away. Remember, marble is a great sound transmitter. If they come to investigate, they’ll turn on the lights, which will warn us someone is coming. Does that make sense?”

Sana reluctantly nodded. It made a lot of sense, but she didn’t like it.

“Talk to me,” Shawn said. “Are you going to be able to handle this?”

Sana nodded again.

“Tell me!” Shawn demanded, raising his voice and giving it an edge. “I have to know for sure!”

“Okay! Okay!” Sana said. “I’m with you all the way.” She glanced around self-consciously at the nearest members of the tour group, several of whom were eyeing them curiously. Sana looked back at Shawn. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry!” she assured him in a whisper, but had she known what was to transpire several hours hence, she might not have been quite so confident.