Intervention

14

10:08 P.M., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2008

ROME

(4:08 P.M., NEW YORK CITY)

Just keep your eyes closed!” Shawn whispered. “Don’t open them, no matter what! Just imagine you’re on a beach and the sun is streaming down, and white, puffy clouds are passing overhead against a faraway blue sky.”

“It’s too cold to imagine I’m on a beach,” Sana said, with desperation in her voice.

“Then for chrissake, imagine you’re lying in the snow at Aspen, looking up at a crystalline winter sky that makes you feel you’re seeing beyond the Milky Way.”

“It’s not that cold.”

For a moment, Shawn didn’t respond. He was running out of patience and things to say to Sana, whom he’d been comforting the entire time they’d been hiding, pressed together in the tunnel. He’d known her for nearly five years, and never suspected the severity of her claustrophobia or the panic it was capable of creating. She began vociferously complaining from the moment they turned off their headlamps and dove into the tunnel headfirst, ending up on their sides facing each other in an uncomfortable embrace. Initially he had just shushed her, as he was nearly as terrified as she was, though his fear was driven by the real danger of discovery by Vatican security, not claustrophobia.

Unfortunately, her panic was such that he had had to try to calm her or she would have been the reason they were discovered. Looking at her with the meager light creeping in from both ends of the tunnel, he had seen she was trembling, her forehead was dotted with perspiration, and her eyes were thrown open to their absolute limit.

“You have to calm down!” Shawn had snapped in a hard whisper.

“I can’t,” she had cried in the softest voice her panic would allow. “I can’t stay here. I’ve got to get out. I’m going crazy!”

Forced to be creative, he ordered her to close her eyes and keep them shut. To his unexpected gratification, it had had the desired effect. She’d immediately calmed enough to stay put.

“How are you doing?” Shawn finally asked. Although she didn’t answer, he was encouraged. She’d not opened her eyes or complained about her panic for several minutes, giving Shawn a moment to calm himself. When the lights had suddenly popped on twenty minutes earlier, he’d panicked, too, rushing from inside the tunnel out to the area beneath the glass deck. He knew he had to replace the heavy glass panel they’d left leaning against the wall. There’d been no doubt that if the glass had been seen standing open, they would have been found.

Just minutes after they’d gotten the glass panel back in place and had scrambled back to the tunnel, they had heard the voices of people arriving on the scene, mounting the glass deck and carrying on a conversation.

While Sana had struggled with her panic attack, Shawn had to fight his own fears that he and Sana might have left some of their equipment in view through the glass deck. For the ten minutes the security people were in the area, Shawn was driven to distraction worrying that they’d be discovered.

He wondered what had attracted the security people. He’d never know for sure, but he admitted that Sana had been surprisingly clairvoyant. It had to have been the piercing, metallic clang of the masonry hammer against the chisel being conducted by the hardpan and marble up into the basilica.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Sana asked suddenly, breaking the heavy silence in the confined tunnel.

“No, keep them closed!” Shawn snapped. Dealing again with Sana’s claustrophobia was not something he needed at the moment.

“How long are we going to stay like this?” Sana asked tremulously. It was apparent she was still struggling, but before Shawn could answer, the lights in the necropolis went off, throwing them into absolute blackness.

“Did the lights go off?” Sana asked nervously but also with a touch of relief.

“They did,” Shawn said, “but keep your eyes closed until you get your headlamp on.” He began wriggling backward in an attempt to extricate himself from the tunnel. When he was free, he turned on his headlamp. Sana joined him a moment later, switching hers on as well.

At first they sat staring at each other. Although Shawn had worried that Sana’s panic might reappear when she opened her eyes, it didn’t happen. Getting out of the cramped tunnel had been enough of a relief to keep her claustrophobia under control.

“Remind me never to take you on another dig,” Shawn said irritably, as if blaming Sana for the scare.

“Remind me never to go!” Sana shot back.

They continued staring at each other for another few seconds, both of them panting as if they’d just run a hundred yards instead of being immobilized for half an hour.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sana said. “So far, this ranks up there as one of my least favorite experiences. Get in there and get that damn ossuary!”

The last thing Shawn wanted was to be bossed around by Sana after he’d had to hold her hand, at least figuratively, through the entire ordeal. Dealing with her fears had been worse than the fear of discovery.

“I’m going to get the ossuary because I want to get it,” Shawn retorted, “not because you’re ordering me to do so.” He grabbed the chisel and the bucket, and crawled back into the tunnel.

Sana could hear him scraping the dirt from around the ossuary, but unfortunately she had nothing to do and her mind reverted back to obsessing about the situation. Now that the glass access panel had been lowered in the deck, she was completely at Shawn’s mercy by being truly imprisoned. As a consequence, her panic and anxiety threatened to return.

“Shawn!” Sana called out over the scraping and grunting noises he was making in the tunnel. “I need us to go back and raise the glass panel.”

“Go do it yourself,” Shawn yelled back, along with something Sana couldn’t hear but could guess.

Knowing she couldn’t handle the glass panel herself, and knowing that Shawn knew it too, made her furious, but there was a good side.

She quickly realized that anger mollified her claustrophobia. The more angry she was at Shawn, the less anxious she was about being in a confined space. Recalling that closing her eyes had worked so well in the tunnel to lessen her panic, she did it again.

“Voilà!” Shawn shouted from inside the tunnel. “It’s free! It’s coming out!”

As if waking from a hypnotic state, Sana’s eyes popped open. As far as she was concerned, Shawn could have been talking about her. The ossuary’s freedom was her freedom as it meant they would soon be leaving. Completely forgetting her phobia, she crawled forward to the mouth of the tunnel and watched Shawn slide out the stone ossuary from the niche in the wall.

“Is it heavy?”

“Heavy enough,” Shawn said with a grunt, settling the limestone box onto the tunnel’s floor. Repositioning himself, he pushed it out of the tunnel and emerged himself.

Squatting on their knees and gawking at the ossuary between them, the couple instantly forgot their irritation. Shawn reached out reverently with his gloved hand and gently brushed off the residual dirt from its top. He was momentarily overwhelmed by the possibility it could contain the relics of one of the most revered people in history. The surface was covered with what appeared to be indecipherable scratches. Once he was able to make sense of them, it all clicked into place.

“I was hoping to see a name,” Sana said, disappointed.

“There is a name!” Shawn said. “And a date.” He rotated the ossuary so that the script that had been facing him was now turned toward Sana. She studied it, recognizing only the Roman numerals of a date: DCCCXV, which she figured out was 815. She slowly raised her eyes to Shawn’s. It seemed all their effort had been for naught.

“Oh, no!” she cried. “The damn thing is from the Dark Ages!”

Shawn smiled slyly. “Are you sure?” he asked teasingly.

Confused, she looked back at the Roman numerals and again translated them into numbers. It still came out to 815. She was going to have to convince Shawn that they had failed. As she’d said the artifact was obviously from the Dark Ages.

Then Shawn pointed at the Roman numerals and asked, “Can you see the Latin letters that follow the Roman numerals?”

Sana looked back at the date. After peering at the maze of scratches, three letters emerged. “Yes, I see them. It looks like AUC.”

“It is exactly AUC,” Shawn said triumphantly. “It stands for ab urbe condita, referring to the supposed founding of Rome in 753 BC, according to the Gregorian calendar, which wasn’t introduced until AD 1582.”

“I’m confused,” Sana said.

“Don’t be. Romans didn’t use BC or AD. They used AUC. To convert from the ancient Roman calendar to our Gregorian, you have to subtract seven hundred fifty-three years.”

Sana did the subtraction in her head. “Then the date is AD 62.”

“Correct. What I’m guessing is Simon Magus believed the Virgin Mary died in AD 62.”

“I suppose that’s a reasonable possibility,” Sana said, nodding her head while thinking back to her catechism.

“I would say so,” Shawn said. “Assuming Mary had her first child, Jesus, in 4 BC, and that she was about fifteen years old, then she would have been eighty-four at her death. That’s certainly long-lived for the first century, but it is possible. Look, there’s also a name.”

“I don’t see one,” Sana said, returning her gaze to the tangle of scratches around the date.

“Here. It’s in Aramaic, just above the Roman numerals.”

“I truly cannot see any letters.”

“I’ll draw them for you when we get back to the hotel.”

“Great! But what is the name?”

“It’s Maryam.”

“Good Lord!” Sana whispered. Something she never thought might come to pass was seemingly happening.

“Good choice of words,” Shawn said happily. “Let’s get this thing back to the hotel so we can celebrate.” He gradually worked the box out to the area beneath the glass deck. It was difficult because he couldn’t stand upright.

“What about the tools and the buckets?” Sana asked. “If I carry them, I’m not going to be able to help you carry the ossuary.”

Shawn scratched his head and nodded. The ossuary had to weigh forty to fifty pounds, which he could certainly manage, but he’d need to rest, especially going up the multiple flights of stairs. “I know,” he said. “Let’s give some future archaeologist something to find in its place. Let’s entomb everything except our helmets in the ossuary’s former resting spot. After all, we have to get rid of the dirt.”

“Good idea,” Sana said, but as Shawn started crawling back toward the tunnel, she stopped him by grabbing his arm. “Before you do that, can I ask you a big favor?”

“What?” Shawn demanded. Despite their apparent success, he wasn’t in the mood for largesse.

“Can we lift the glass panel? It will make me feel a lot less panicky. Then, while you’re burying the tools, I’ll get the ossuary over in the corner under the access panel.”

Shawn looked back and forth from the tunnel to the ossuary. He even briefly glanced at his watch, knowing he wanted to be exiting the Scavi office by eleven. “Oh, all right!” he said, as if making a big concession. A few minutes later, he was back in the tunnel, busily sealing their equipment in the hole vacated by the ossuary by shoveling the dirt in with his hands and packing it in. He wasn’t able to return the wall of the tunnel completely to its original state, but he did his best, and when he was through it looked better than he’d expected.

After smoothing out the dirt floor and making sure he wasn’t leaving anything lying around, he beat a fast retreat to where Sana was waiting for him at the exit in the far corner of the glass deck. With the two of them working together, they got the ossuary up to Shawn’s chest height and then laterally over onto the deck’s surface.

With much effort, they made the long walk though the necropolis toward the exit, stopping repeatedly to catch their breath, Shawn urging them onward. At one of their rest stops near the necropolis entrance door, Sana said, “You know what I’m most excited about?”

“Tell me!” Shawn said, massaging the aching muscles of his upper arms.

“The fact that the top of the ossuary is still sealed all the way around.”

Shawn bent down and looked. “I think you’re right.”

“If that box had been sealed in Qumran, and Qumran is as dry as you said, I think I’ve got a good chance of finding some first-century mitochondrial DNA.”

“And a rather special DNA sample at that. Come on, let’s get this thing in the trunk of the car.”

The last portion of the trip was the most nerve-wracking. As close to eleven as it had become, there was the small but definite risk of running into security between the Scavi office and the Piazza del Protomartiri Romani, where the car was waiting. Luckily it didn’t happen. Once outside, Shawn carried the ossuary himself so Sana could hold the umbrella. She didn’t want to risk even getting the outside of the ossuary wet.

With the relic safely ensconced in the trunk of the car, there was some mild concern as they bore down on the Swiss Guards’ shacks under the Arco delle Campane. But the concern was unnecessary. Perhaps because of the rain the guards didn’t even come out of their guardhouses as Shawn and Sana zipped by, heading out into the dark, wet city.

“Well, that was easy,” Shawn said as he settled back into his seat. Sana had her construction helmet on her head with the headlamp illuminated. On her lap was a hotel map with which she hoped to guide them back to the hotel.

“I don’t think I’d describe it as easy,” she said, not realizing Shawn was joking. She shuddered at the memory of her panic attack. She had never before experienced such anxiety.

“My only regret is allowing myself to be talked into leaving the masonry hammer and chisel behind,” Shawn added, continuing his attempt to be humorous. He knew full well it had been his idea to leave all the tools behind.

Sana looked over at the silhouette of her husband and fumed, as she completely missed the fact that he was trying to be funny. How could he be so insensitive? she marveled. Why would he take the risk of hurting her feelings like that? It didn’t make sense, especially since they’d found what they were looking for and managed to snatch it from beneath everyone’s nose.

“It would come in handy to open the ossuary.”

Sana’s irritation at Shawn instantly shifted to concern about Shawn’s intentions. “When are you planning on opening it?” she asked, afraid to hear his response.

“I don’t know exactly,” Shawn said. He glanced at his wife, surprised at her tone and the fact that she was staring at him so intently. “I might allow myself to have a drink first, but I want to know if there are any documents inside, and I want to know sooner rather than later.”

Sana didn’t laugh or even smile at what she now sensed was a feeble attempt at humor. There was nothing funny about opening the ossuary prematurely. In fact, she was afraid his impatience might put her interest in the ossuary in jeopardy.

“Why the long face?” he asked, while shielding his eyes from Sana’s headlamp.

“You can’t open the ossuary until I can stabilize the relics biologically,” Sana blurted, as she turned off her headlamp and tossed the helmet in the backseat. “Otherwise, we’ll be taking a risk of lessening the chances of isolating any mitochondrial DNA.”

“Oh, really?” Shawn questioned mockingly. He was shocked that his wife could think it was her position to preempt what was sure to be his premier archaeological find. “I’m opening the damn ossuary tonight! We’ll worry about your DNA stuff when the time comes.”

“You could be cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Sana replied with emotion. “Your impatience could be costly. Remember, this thing’s been sealed for nearly two thousand years. If there are documents in it, you’d better be prepared to conserve them immediately or you might lose them, along with any biological material.”

“Okay, maybe you are right,” Shawn reluctantly admitted, “at least about the documents. But really, except for vague scientific interest, what would knowing the Virgin Mary’s mitochondrial DNA sequence mean, anyhow?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that. We might be able to trace her genealogy quite a ways back because we’d already be two thousand years back before we start. But more important, because mitochondrial DNA is inherited solely from the mother, with no recombination involved, you will be ultimately responsible for learning the mitochondrial DNA sequence of Jesus Christ.”

“Really!” Shawn repeated, suddenly awed.

“Really!” Sana echoed. “You would be included in that rarified group of scientists who have made extraordinary contributions to knowledge, probably more than any documents could provide.”

“My word,” Shawn said, visualizing the accolades.

“So, can I have your word we won’t open the ossuary until we get to New York? You’ll only have to wait a few days.”

“You have my word.”

Sana took in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. She was relieved. She was also a little embarrassed at her stooping so low as to manipulate Shawn with his own vanity. Yet she wasn’t embarrassed enough to admit to it. She was intent on maximizing the chances of isolating Mary’s DNA, because she, as the molecular biologist, rather than Shawn, as the archaeologist, would ultimately be credited with having deciphered Jesus Christ’s mitochondrial DNA sequence.