Intervention

16

11:30 A.M., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2008

NEW YORK CITY

Dr. Jack Stapleton, I presume!” The clear, mellifluous tenor voice came over the receiver like a breath of fresh air. It was somehow familiar to Jack, and his brain desperately scanned though its auditory memory bank.

Jack was silent a moment. Listening more closely he could hear a slight wheeze. Someone was still on the line but deliberately not speaking. Almost half a minute went by before Jack said, “We’re going to be here awhile unless I get a bit more information.”

“It’s one of your oldest and dearest friends.”

The voice was again familiar, but Jack could not quite pin it down. “Since I’ve never had a surplus of friends, this should be an easy task, but it’s not. You have to give me another hint.”

“I was the handsomest, tallest, smartest, most athletic, and most popular of the Three Musketeers!”

“Will wonders never cease,” Jack said, now at ease. “James O’Rourke. Although I can grant you the other less significant qualities, I’m going to contest the tallest.”

James burst out with his familiar high-pitched laugh, which grated on Jack’s nerves like sandpaper on the tips of his fingers, just as it had when they met at Amherst College in the fall of 1973.

“The moment I hear your voice, do you know what I visualize?” James said with another giggle.

“I can’t imagine,” Jack said.

“I see you walking out of Laura Scales House at Smith College, lugging the bust of Laura Scales, with your face as red as mine would have been. It was hilarious.”

“That was because Molly stood me up,” Jack said, quickly defending himself.

“I remember,” James said. “And you did it in broad daylight.”

“I brought it back the next month with great fanfare,” Jack added. “So no harm done.”

“I remember. I was there.”

“And you’re hardly the one to be throwing stones,” Jack said. “I can remember the night you carried out the club chair from Dickinson House at Mount Holyoke College because you were pissed off at... what was her name?”

“Virginia Sorenson. Beautiful, sweet Virginia Sorenson! What a doll!” James said with a hint of nostalgia.

“Have you heard from her since—”

“Since I went into the seminary?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I haven’t. She was sweet but hardly understanding.”

“I can see her point, considering how tight you guys were. Do you regret your choice?”

James cleared his throat. “The difficulty of having to make the choice has been a source of both joy and sadness, which I would prefer to discuss over a glass of wine and a roaring fire. I have a place on a lake in northern New Jersey where I’d love to have you and your wife come some weekend.”

“That might work,” Jack said vaguely. It seemed a surprising invitation after not having heard a whimper from James since they graduated from college in 1977. Of course, it was also Jack’s fault, since he hadn’t tried to contact James, either. Although they’d been good friends in college, their postgraduate interests had been totally divergent. With the last member of the Three Musketeers, it had been different. Jack had been enthralled by Shawn Daughtry’s field of Near Eastern archeology, and they had stayed reasonably in touch until the death of Jack’s first wife and children. After that, Jack didn’t keep in touch with anyone, not even family.

As if sensing Jack’s thoughts, James said, “I have to apologize for not getting in touch with you when you moved here to the city. I heard you were here, working at OCME. I’ve always meant to give you a call to get together and laugh at old times. No one seems to realize when you go to college what a wonderful experience it is. At the time it always seems so hectic, with some giant paper or exam weighing you down. And when someone tries to tell you how special college is while you’re there, all you can say to yourself is, Oh, sure! If this is the best that it gets, I’m in serious trouble!”

It was Jack’s turn to chuckle. “You’re so right. It’s the same with medical school. I can remember my old family doc telling me medical school was going to be the emotional highlight of my professional career. At the time I thought he was crazy, but it turns out he was right.”

There was a short pause in the conversation as the two old college friends silently reminisced. But then James’s attitude and tone abruptly changed as he broke the silence. “I suppose you’d like to know why I have suddenly called you out of the blue.”

“It’s crossed my mind,” Jack admitted, trying to sound casual. James’s voice had become decidedly somber, almost grave.

“It’s simply that I am in desperate need of your help, and I pray that you will be willing to indulge me.”

“You have my attention,” Jack said warily. There had been times when listening to other people’s problems had awakened his own. Much as he wanted to avoid that, he couldn’t help but be curious. Still, Jack could not believe that he, a die-hard agnostic, could possibly help the archbishop of New York City, arguably one of the most powerful leaders in the world.

“It involves our mutual friend, Shawn Daughtry,” James added.

“Have you been playing cards again?” Jack asked, in an attempt at humor. Back in college, James and Shawn would play poker at least once a week and get into heated arguments about how much one owed the other. Several times, Jack had to intervene to get them back to talking to each other.

“This issue is of extraordinary importance,” James said. “I would prefer you not make light of it.”

“Excuse me, Father,” Jack said, realizing James was dead serious. Still trying to lighten the sudden downturn in the tone of the conversation, Jack added, “Am I supposed to call you Father, Father?”

“My title is Your Eminence,” James said, easing up a trifle. “But you can call me James, which from you I vastly prefer.”

“I’m glad,” Jack responded. “Knowing you from college as I do, it might be difficult to call you Your Eminence. It sounds too much like a rude anatomical statement.”

“You haven’t changed, have you?” James said, even more light- heartedly.

“Unfortunately, yes, I have changed. I feel like I’m living a second life totally separate from the first. But I’d rather not get into it, at least not now. Maybe when you call me in another thirty years, I’ll be ready to talk about it.”

“Has it been that long?” James said, with a touch of regret.

“Actually, it’s been thirty-one; I rounded it off to the nearest decade. But I’m not blaming you. I’m just as guilty.”

“Well, it’s something that should be rectified. After all, we live and work in the same city.”

“It seems that way,” Jack said. Jack was one of those people who refrained from spur-of-the-moment social commitments. Considering how long it had been and how divergent their careers had become, he didn’t know if he wanted to reopen a relationship from what seemed like a previous life.

“What I’d like to propose,” James said, “is we get together just as soon as possible. I know it is short notice, but would you consider coming here to the residence for a quick lunch?”

“Today?” Jack asked with utter surprise.

“Yes, today,” James reiterated. “This problem has just been dumped in my lap, and I don’t have a lot of time to deal with it. That’s why I need to ask your help.”

“Well,” Jack said, “it’s short notice, and I was invited to lunch with the Queen, but I can give her a call and tell her we’ll have to reschedule, as the Catholic Church needs my intervention.”

“I beg to differ concerning your assessment of yourself. You haven’t changed one iota. But thank you for being willing to come. And thank you for your irreverent humor. It would probably be best for me to lighten up a bit, but I am very concerned.”

“Does it have something to do with Shawn’s health?” Jack questioned. That was the main thing he was worried about: some health issue like cancer, as it would be too close to his own problems.

“No, not his health but his soul. You know how headstrong he can be.”

Jack scratched his head. Recalling Shawn’s loose sexual mores from college, Jack would have thought his soul was in jeopardy from the age of puberty on, which begged the question of why there was such a rush today. “Can you be a bit more specific?” he asked.

“I’d rather not,” James said. “I’d rather discuss the issue tête-à-tête. When can I expect you?”

Jack glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes until noon. “If I leave now, which I can do, I’ll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful. I do have an official reception I must attend with the mayor at two p.m. I look forward to seeing you, Jack.”

“Likewise,” Jack said as he hung up the phone. There was a strange unreality to James’s request. It was like the president calling and saying get down here to Washington immediately: The country needs you. Jack laughed out loud, grabbed his leather jacket, and headed down to the basement.

As Jack was unlocking his bike, he became aware that someone had come up behind him. Turning around, he found himself confronted by bulldog-faced Chief Bingham. As usual, his expression was grim, perspiration dotting his forehead.

“Jack,” Bingham began. “I wanted to say again how sorry Calvin and I are about your son. Having had children ourselves, we can, to some degree, imagine how very difficult it must be. Remember, if there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

“Are you heading out?”

“No, I just drop down here every so often to unlock and lock my bike.”

“Always joking!” Bingham commented. Knowing Jack as well as he did, he wasn’t about to take offense the way he used to when Jack first came on board at the OCME. “I assume you’re not heading out to lunch with a chiropractor friend.”

“Your assumption is entirely correct,” Jack said. “Nor am I heading out to see an acupuncturist, a homeopathist, or an herbalist. But I am going to lunch with a faith healer. The archbishop of New York just called and asked to have lunch with me.”

Bingham burst out laughing despite himself. “I have to hand it to you. You’re creatively quick on the retort. Anyway, ride carefully, and if truth be known, I wish you wouldn’t ride that bike. I’m always terrified you’re going to come in here feet first.” Still chuckling, Bingham turned and walked back into the depths of OCME.

Jack rode uptown on Madison, the fresh air reviving him. In fifteen minutes he arrived at the corner of 51st Street.

The archbishop’s residence stood out dramatically from the neighboring modern skyscrapers, a modest, rather severe three-story slate-roofed house of gray stone. The windows on the lower floors were covered by heavy iron bars. The only sign of life was a glimpse of Belgian lace seeming out of place behind a few of the barred windows.

With the bike secured along with his helmet, Jack mounted the granite steps and gave the shiny brass bell a pull. He didn’t wait long. As the locks clicked open, the heavy door swung inward, revealing a tall, thin, red-haired priest whose most prominent feature was a hatchet-like nose. He was dressed in a priest’s black suit and a heavily starched, old-fashioned white clerical collar.

“Dr. Stapleton?” the priest questioned.

“Yes, indeed,” Jack said casually.

“My name is Father Maloney,” the priest said, stepping to the side.

Jack entered, feeling somewhat intimidated by his surroundings. As Father Maloney closed the door behind him, he said, “I will show you to His Eminence’s private study.” He strode off, forcing Jack to run a few paces to catch up.

The sounds of busy Madison Avenue had disappeared behind the heavy front door. All Jack could hear besides the tick of the grandfather clock were their footsteps on the highly polished oak floor.

Father Maloney stopped before a closed interior door. As Jack came up to join him, the priest opened the door and stepped aside to allow Jack to enter.

“His Eminence will join you momentarily,” he said, backing out of the room and quietly closing the door.

Jack glanced around the spartan room, which smelled of cleaning fluid and floor wax. The only decoration besides a small crucifix hanging on the wall above an antique prie-dieu were several framed formal photos of the pope. Besides the prie-dieu the furniture was limited to a small leather couch, a matching leather chair, a side table with a lamp, and finally a small lady’s writing desk with a straight-backed wooden chair.

Jack walked across the glossy wooden floor, his leather soles tapping loudly. He sat on the sofa without leaning back, feeling as if he were someplace he didn’t belong. Jack had never been religious, as his schoolteacher parents had not followed any faith themselves. As he grew up and was forced to think about the issue, he’d decided he was an agnostic, at least until the tragedy that had stripped him of his family. From then on, Jack had given up on the comforting idea that there was a God. He didn’t think a loving God would let his beloved wife and his darling daughters perish as they did.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Already on edge, Jack leaped to his feet. In walked His Eminence James Cardinal O’Rourke in full regalia. For a beat the men regarded one another, each resurrecting a flash of pleasant memories. Although Jack could definitely see a glimpse of his old friend in the cardinal’s face, the rest of his appearance surprised him. Jack didn’t remember him being as small as he now appeared to be. His hair was shorter and not so vibrantly red. But it was the clothing, of course, that had changed the most: James reminded Jack of a Renaissance prince. Over black pants and white collar, James wore a black cassock enhanced with cardinal-red piping and buttons. Over the cassock was an open scarlet cape. On his head was a cardinal-red zucchetto skullcap. Cinched around his waist was a broad scarlet sash, while around his neck hung a jeweled silver cross.

The two men threw their arms around each other. They hugged for a moment before stepping back.

“You look terrific,” James said. “You look like you could run a marathon this minute. I don’t think I could run the length of the cathedral if I had to.”

“You’re too kind,” Jack said, as he gazed down at James’s gentle face with soft, freckled, shiny red cheeks and pleasantly rounded features. His sharp, sparkling ice-blue eyes told a different story, and one more consistent with what Jack knew of his old friend, who was now a powerful, ambitious prelate. The eyes reflected James’s formidable and canny intelligence, which Jack had always envied.

“Truly,” James continued. “You look like a man half your age.”

“Oh, stop it,” Jack said with a smile. Suddenly he remembered how facile James was at flattery, a trait he’d always used to great advantage. Back at Amherst, there wasn’t a person who did not like James, thanks to his ability to beguile others.

“And look at you,” Jack said, trying to return the compliment. “You look like a Renaissance prince.”

“A chubby Renaissance prince whose only exercise is at the refectory table.”

“Think about it,” Jack continued, ignoring James’s comment. “You are a cardinal, one of the most powerful people in the Church.”

“Fiddlesticks,” James remarked, waving him away as if Jack was teasing him. “I’m just a simple parish priest caring for my flock. The Good Lord has put me in a position that’s way over my head. Of course, I can’t question the Lord’s ways; I do the best I can. But enough of this small talk. We can indulge ourselves more at lunch. First, I want to show you something.”

James led the way out of the study, down a long hall, and past a formal dining room, where there were two place settings at a table for twelve, and into a large kitchen with modern appliances but old-fashioned soapstone countertops and sinks. A woman was at the sink washing a head of lettuce. She was a big woman, about four inches taller than James, with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. James introduced her as Mrs. Steinbrenner, the housekeeper, and the absolute ruler of the residence. Her response was to shoo James out of what she called her kitchen and to feign anger when he stole a carrot stick from a carefully arranged vegetable platter.

“That is your lunch,” she scolded with a heavy German accent, slapping James’s hand. Pretending to be intimidated, James motioned for Jack to follow him down the cellar steps.

“She pretends to be Brunhild,” James explained, “but she is a lamb. I could not do without her. She does all the cooking, except for large parties, keeps the place spotless, and keeps everyone, myself included, in line. Now, where is the light switch?”

They had reached the concrete basement, which was divided into rooms by rough, white-stained lumber. James flicked a switch, revealing a central corridor lined with padlocked doors on either side.

“I really, really appreciate your coming over on such short notice,” James said as he stopped in front of one of the doors. He took out a key, opened the lock, and pulled open the hasp. The door’s hinges squeaked as the door opened outward. He fumbled again to get the lights before proceeding into the room and motioning for Jack to follow.

It was a rectangular room about twenty feet long and ten feet wide with a nearly twelve-foot ceiling. The end wall was made of exposed, roughly dressed granite blocks that also served as the building’s foundation. Shelving ran down the walls, supporting carefully labeled cardboard moving boxes. Down at the end of the room stood a yellowed wooden packing crate whose metal straps had been cut but were still in place. Again motioning for Jack to follow him, James walked to the crate and bent the cut metal straps back to expose the top, which clearly had been opened and then put back.

“This is what has started the dilemma,” James said. Then he sighed. “Notice it is addressed to me. Also notice I am supposedly the sender, and also notice it says that it contains personal items.”

“Did Shawn send this to you?”

“He did indeed, the clever guy. He also phoned me to tell me it was coming. He said it was a surprise, and he knows I like surprises. Actually, foolish me thought it was something for my upcoming birthday, which I now know it isn’t, but it is a surprise that has turned out to be a much bigger one than I could have imagined.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said, his face brightening. “Your birthday is coming up. In fact it’s tomorrow, the sixth of December, right?”

“He hasn’t given me a present since I don’t know when,” James said, ignoring Jack’s question. “Why I let myself believe he was going to give me one this year, I truly don’t know. But since Shawn is both a biblical scholar and archaeologist, I thought it might be some wonderful early Christian relic. Little did I know.”

“Is it?” Jack asked.

“Let me finish,” James said. “I want you to understand why I am in such a difficult situation.”

Jack nodded, his curiosity building. The crate probably did contain an antiquity. Something unusual, judging from James’s reaction.

“Sending this crate to me from the Vatican saying it contained my personal effects meant it wasn’t stopped by customs, either in Italy or here in New York. It came overnight by air freight, delivered here directly from JFK. Since I thought it was a birthday present, I had it placed in here with the rest of my personal items. As he promised, Shawn showed up yesterday right from JFK, shortly after the crate arrived. He was in a very strange mood, kind of tense with excitement. He was very impatient to open the box, as was I, to see if the contents had arrived safely. So we came down here and cut the metal strips and unscrewed the top of the wooden crate. Initially, all we saw was foam board, as the object had been extremely well packed. When the top piece of foam board was removed as I will do now, this is what I saw.” James insinuated his fingers between the rough wood and the packing material and lifted the latter.

Jack leaned forward. The light in the basement was not the best, but he could plainly see a tarnished, rectangular stone with a flat, scratch-covered surface. He wasn’t impressed. He’d expected something eye-catching like a gilded cup, or a statue, or maybe a heavy gold box. “What is it?” Jack asked.

“It’s an ossuary. Around the time of Christ, give or take a hundred years, Jewish burial practices in Palestine involved putting corpses in cavelike tombs for a year or longer to permit the body to decay. After that the family would return, collect the bones, and place them in a limestone box of varying size and decoration, depending how wealthy the family was. The box is called an ossuary.”

“Wasn’t there a controversy recently about an ossuary that supposedly had an inscription saying James, son of Joseph, brother of Jesus.”

“Absolutely. In fact, there were some recently discovered ossuaries with inscriptions claiming they contained the remains of Jesus Christ and his immediate family. Of course, the whole troublesome incident was proved to be pure chicanery by some unscrupulous forgers. Thousands of first-century ossuaries have been found over the last twenty years as a result of the building boom in Jerusalem. It’s hard not to find ossuaries when you dig in that city. I am confident this ossuary here will turn out to be a similar fake, as to whose relics, if any, are supposed to be inside.”

“Whose remains are supposedly involved?” Jack asked curiously.

“Holy Mary, Mother of Christ, Mother of God, Mother of the Church, second only to Jesus himself, the most holy person to have walked this earth,” James said, finding it difficult to get it all out.

For almost a full minute Jack and James stared at each other. Jack’s disappointment concerning the contents of the box edged upward. He wasn’t interested in a box of bones; treasure held more allure for him than historical objects. James, on the other hand, was overwhelmed. Simply talking about the supposed contents only made him more desperate to find a solution.

“Okay,” Jack said at length. He broke off staring at James and his brimming eyes and looked back down at the lid of the ossuary. He’d expected James to continue, but the man was too distraught to speak.

“I must be missing something here. If there are lots of ossuaries and lots of forgers, which it seems there are, what’s the problem?”

James had his lips pressed together, and a single tear fell in a rivulet down his right cheek. Without speaking, his eyes momentarily closed, he raised his palms toward Jack and gently waved them in a narrow arc. He shook his head, as if apologizing for not being able to explain his feelings. A moment later, he gestured for Jack to follow him.

Upstairs, as they passed back though the kitchen, Mrs. Steinbrenner took one look at His Eminence and instantly recognized his emotional state. Although she didn’t say anything, she glared at Jack, whom she suspected was the source of her boss’s tears.

James took the seat at the head of the dining table and gestured for Jack to take the one to his right. Between them was the vegetable platter. The moment they pulled themselves to the table Mrs. Steinbrenner appeared with a large tureen in her hands. While the intimidating woman ladled out the soup, an excellent eggplant bisque, Jack kept his eyes focused on his bowl.

When the housekeeper finished serving and had closed the swinging door to the kitchen behind her, James used his cloth napkin to blot his eyes, which had become significantly red. “I sincerely apologize for my maudlin behavior,” he said.

“That’s okay,” Jack responded quickly.

“No, it isn’t,” James answered, “not in front of a guest, and especially not in front of a good friend I am about to ask for a serious favor.”

“I disagree,” Jack said. “This shows me how important this is to you, whatever it is you’re going to ask me.”

“You are too kind,” James said. “Now permit me to say grace.”

After James had voiced his final amen, he glanced up at Jack and said, “Please start. I’m sorry we don’t have much time, as I mentioned earlier, but I have to be at Gracie Mansion at two p.m.”

Jack picked up the heaviest silver soup spoon he’d ever had the opportunity to use and took a taste of his soup. It was sublime.

“She’s a good cook. Not the most pleasant personality, but definitely a good cook.”

Jack nodded, glad that James had recovered from his emotional outburst.

“As I said, I believe the ossuary downstairs will eventually be proved to be just another unfortunate forgery. I say ‘unfortunate’ because before it is proved to be a forgery, it can cause a good deal of harm to the Church, its followers, and to me personally. The problem is that proving it a fake is not going to be easy and may ultimately rely mostly on faith.”

Jack silently acknowledged that in science, proof that relied on faith was hardly proof at all. In fact, it was an oxymoron.

“The biggest problem we face is that the ossuary was discovered by one of the most renowned archaeologists in the world.”

“You mean Shawn?”

“Yes, I mean Shawn. After we opened the crate and looked at the top of the ossuary, Shawn pointed out two things. Among all those scratches are a date and a name. The date is in Roman numerals and is 815 AUC, which in a Gregorian calendar is AD 62.”

“What the hell is AUC?” Jack asked, then blushed. “Excuse my French.”

“I remember your French, as you call it, was significantly more colorful in college. No need to apologize, I’m as immune to it now as I was then. But AUC stands for ab urbe condita, referring to the supposed date of the founding of Rome. In other words, it’s a date appropriate to such a find. And when the date is combined with the name, it becomes truly disturbing — the name Maryam, written in Aramaic characters, which when translated into Hebrew is Miriam or the English Mary.”

“So Shawn is convinced the ossuary contains the bones of the Virgin Mary, Jesus’ mother?”

“Precisely. Shawn is an extremely credible witness and can prove that this ossuary has not seen the light of day since the time it was interred almost two thousand years ago. He found it nestled next to the tomb of Saint Peter. Furthermore, the ossuary is sealed. All other ossuarys as far as I know have not been sealed.”

“Wasn’t Mary a common name back then? Why does he believe it’s the Mary who was Jesus’ mother?”

“Because Shawn has discovered an authentic second-century letter that claims the ossuary contains the bones of Jesus’ mother. And it was the letter that led Shawn to the bones.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “I see your point. But what about the letter? Couldn’t that be fake?”

“Although it is somewhat tautological, finding the ossuary where the letter says it will be proves the authenticity of the letter, and vice versa. Both are such extraordinary finds that that fact alone will convince people that the bones in the ossuary are the Holy Mother’s.”

Jack thought about the issue while using a pair of silver tongs to help himself to some of the raw vegetables that had been waiting on the table. He could see James’s point. But then he had another idea. “Did you see the letter?”

“I did. I saw it yesterday.”

“Who wrote it?”

“A bishop of Antioch called Saturninus.”

“I never heard of him.”

“He’s a known figure, not very well known, but he was a real person.”

“Who did he write to?”

“Another bishop, a bishop of Alexandria, named Basilides.”

“I never heard of him, either.”

“Do you know anything about Gnosticism?”

“Can’t say I do. It’s a subject that doesn’t come up often at the morgue.”

“I’m sure not,” James said with a laugh. “It was a serious heresy in the early Christian church, and Basilides was an early leader.”

“Would Saturninus have had any reason to lie to Basilides?”

“Clever idea,” James said, “but unfortunately no.”

“Does Saturninus take responsibility for actually burying the ossuary?”

“Most definitely.”

“Does he say how he came to have the relics or who gave them to him?”

“He does, and you are cleverly enough coming to what I think is the weakest point in the chain of custody, so to speak. Do you know who Simon Magus was?”

“You have me there, too. Never heard of him.”

“He is the archvillain of the Bible’s New Testament, a true scoundrel who tried to buy Saint Peter’s healing powers. From him we get the word simony.”

Jack smiled inwardly when he realized that Jesus Christ was the most famous provider of alternative medicine, and Saint Peter was the second.

“Simon Magus is also considered by some to be one of the earliest Gnostics,” James continued. “And Saturninus, who was much younger, worked for him, helping him with his magic. So to prove whether the bones in the ossuary are the Holy Mother’s, which they certainly are not, it all depends on Simon Magus, perhaps the most notoriously poor witness of all.”

“There’s another way,” Jack said. “A particularly straightforward way.”

“Which is?” James asked eagerly.

“Have an anthropologist check the bones, if there are bones, and first make sure they are human. If they are human, then make sure they are female, and if they are female, check whether or not the woman had given birth. We know Mary had at least one child.”

“An anthropologist can tell those things?”

“A definite yes on the first two points: whether or not the bones are human and whether or not they are female. It is a little less certain on whether one can tell if the woman was parous or not. If the changes one looks for are present, the woman definitely had children, and generally, the more prominent, the more children. However, if they are not there, you cannot say with certainty the woman didn’t have, perhaps, one child.”

“Fascinating,” James said. “Especially with the idea the bones could be male. If they are, the nightmare would be over.”

“Have you seen the bones?” Jack asked.

“No. Shawn and his wife were only interested in making sure the ossuary had not been broken during transit. They did not want to open the ossuary itself, since it is sealed with wax. Both are concerned, as you might imagine, with the state of the contents after two thousand years, and didn’t want to expose them to air and moisture without having laboratory facilities available. Have you met Shawn’s wife?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “The last time I saw him was two years ago, and considering the speed with which he goes through wives, I don’t know if I’m current. I’ve seen Shawn only twice in the fourteen years I’ve been here in the city. In that time I know he’s been married and divorced at least twice.”

“Totally shameless,” James remarked. ”But not totally out of character. Remember how many girlfriends he had in college?”

“Do I ever,” Jack said. “I remember one weekend when two showed up. One was supposed to be for Friday night and the other for Saturday, but the Saturday one mistakenly thought it was for the whole weekend. Fortunately, I was able to help out. I ended up entertaining the Friday-night choice, and we hit it off.”

“Shawn’s current wife is named Sana.”

“Oh, yes,” Jack said, remembering. “I have met her. She was very shy and retiring. All she did was cling to his arm and dreamily stare into his face. It was a little embarrassing.”

“She’s changed. She’s a molecular biologist who has gained a lot of notice in her field. She’s now a scientist at the medical school up at Columbia University. I think she’s really blossomed since they first met. I have a sense that the marriage won’t last too long, given Shawn’s preference for adoring, docile women. Socially, he’s never going to be content. I’m no expert, but I don’t think he’s capable of being faithful.”

“Maybe so,” Jack said. He’d never admired Shawn’s behavior in regard to women, but he’d never commented on it. But it had always been a bone of contention between James and Shawn.

“How is your relationship with Shawn?” James asked.

Jack shrugged. “As I mentioned, I’ve seen him only twice since I moved here to New York City. He was nice enough to invite me to his home for dinner on those two occasions. I suppose I should have returned the gesture, but I’ve become a bit of a hermit these days.”

”You alluded to that on the phone,” James said. “Would you care to explain?”

“No. Maybe some other time,” Jack said, trying to avoid thinking about his first family or his second. “Why don’t you tell me how I can help you? I assume it involves the box downstairs.”

James took a deep breath to steel himself. “You are right, of course,” James began. “It does involve the box downstairs. What do you think would happen if a significant percentage of people came to believe, even briefly, that the ossuary downstairs actually contained the bones of Mary, the Mother of God?”

“I suppose it would disappoint a lot of people,” Jack said.

“That’s a lot more diplomatic than I would have expected.”

“And less sarcastic than I’ve been of late.”

“Does that have anything to do with me being a cardinal?”

“Obviously,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Old friends should feel able to be themselves.”

“Maybe if such meetings became a habit. For now, why don’t you tell me what you think would happen?”

“It would be a disaster for the Church, at a time it can least afford it. We are still suffering from the damage caused by the priest molestation scandal. It has been a true tragedy for the people involved, and for the Church itself. So too would the belief that the Blessed Virgin Mary had not been assumed body and soul into heaven as promulgated ex cathedra by Pope Pius the Twelfth with his Munificentissimus Deus in 1950. This promulgation has been the only use of the solemn declaration of papal infallibility declared by Vatican One on July eighteenth, 1870. Shawn’s claim that he has found the bones of the Most Holy Mother of God would seriously threaten and undermine the authority of the Church. It would be a disaster bar none.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said, watching James’s face turn increasingly red.

“I’m being very serious,” James declared, afraid Jack wasn’t really getting the message. “As a direct religious descendant from Saint Peter himself, when the pope speaks ex cathedra on faith or morals he is making divine revelation as the Holy Spirit works in the body of the Church as sensus fidelium.”

“Okay, okay,” Jack conceded. “I understand how Shawn claiming Mary did not rise up to heaven when the Church has declared she had would be a serious blow to the Catholic faith.”

“It would be an equally disastrous blow to those who venerate Mary almost as they do Jesus Christ. You have no idea of her position among the Catholic faithful, who would be cast adrift if Shawn has his way.”

“I can see that, too,” Jack said, sensing that James was working himself into a minor frenzy.

“I can’t let that happen!” James snapped, slapping his palm on the table hard enough to cause the dishes to rattle. “I can’t let that happen, both for the Church’s sake and my own!”

Jack raised his eyebrows. Suddenly, he saw his friend as he was back in college, sensing James’s beneficence and concern about the bones in the basement was based on more than the Church’s well-being. James was also a skilled politician. Though Jack had doubted his chances, James ran for class president in college. Jack had underestimated James: With an innate sense of people’s inner needs, fears, and sensitivities, plus his ability to flatter, James was a natural. He was also driven, pragmatic, and shrewd. Everyone liked him, and to Jack and Shawn’s amazement, he won the election. Jack had every reason to believe it was these same qualities that helped James rise to the exalted level of cardinal.

“An added problem,” James continued, “is that that clever Shawn has me by the balls.”

Jack’s head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. Such language coming from a Roman Catholic cardinal was completely unexpected. Of course, he’d heard this all the time in their college days.

Catching Jack’s reaction, James guffawed. “Oh! Sorry!” he said. He then purposefully echoed Jack by following up with “Pardon my French.”

Jack laughed, realizing he had been guilty of stereotyping his old friend, who, despite outward appearances, was still the same person he’d been. “Touché,” he said, still smiling.

“Let me put it this way,” James continued. “By sending the ossuary from the Vatican to me with my name as the sender, he avoided customs and took advantage of my covetousness, since I was so quick to imagine it was a birthday present. By accepting the crate and signing for it, I have become, if you will, an accessory. I should have refused the carton so that it would have ended up back at the Vatican. As it is, whatever havoc it will evoke, I will be personally implicated, since it was my involvement that got him access to Peter’s tomb in the first place. I am in this hook, line, and sinker.”

“Why don’t you just call the media and confess right off the bat that you had no idea what you were signing for?”

“Because the damage is done. I am, as I said, an accessory. Besides, Shawn would go to the media himself and accuse me and the Church of trying to prevent the object from reaching the light of day, saying we’ve denied him the chance to examine the contents. That would sound like a conspiracy, which to many people would be akin to proving the object’s authenticity. No, I cannot do that! I have to let Shawn do whatever he is going to do, which he believes will take a month if there are no documents to deal with, or up to three months if there are documents in with the bones, if there are bones. I hope there aren’t. That would make everything easier.”

“Are there usually documents in ossuaries?” Jack asked. He found his interest in the contents growing.

“Usually not, but according to the letter from Saturninus to Basilides, this ossuary contains the only known copy of a Gospel of Simon Magus, along with the bones.”

“Now, that would be an interesting manuscript, from what you’ve mentioned of the guy,” Jack said. “Bad guys are always more interesting than the good guys.”

“I will have to contest that.”

“Okay, so, what are you going to do and what is my role?”

“Shawn and Sana want to keep the ossuary secret until they complete their work. And I forgot to mention this, but Sana intends to try to salvage some DNA.”

“I suppose that’s possible. Biologists were able to extract DNA from the much more ancient ice man found in the Alps in 1991. It’s been estimated that mummy was more than five thousand years old.”

“Well, to keep their respective labs ignorant of what they are doing, they need someplace to work where they can keep their work a secret. It’s an idea I’m in full agreement with. I suggested the OCME’s new forensic DNA facility. I thought of it because I’d gone to its grand opening along with the mayor and a few other city officials. Do you think that is possible, and could you arrange it?”

Jack gave the idea some thought. The building had been built with more space than was currently needed, a rare incidence of foresight on the side of city planners. Jack knew that the chief had supported other research projects from NYU and Bellevue Hospital, so why not this one? It would also be good public relations, which would please Bingham to no end. “I think it is definitely possible,” he said, “and I’ll talk with the chief as soon as I get back to the OCME. But is that all you want me to do?”

“No, I’d like you to help me try to change Shawn and Sana’s opinion on publishing their work. I want to make them realize how much harm will come from it by appealing to their better judgment. I know Shawn is a good man, even if he’s somewhat vain and self-indulgent.”

Jack shook his head. “If what I remember about Shawn’s desire for fame and fortune is still true, it’s going to be a tough sell. Changing his mind is going to be nearly impossible. This is the kind of story that will take him out of the dry archaeological journals and catapult him into Newsweek, Time, and People.”

“I know it will be difficult, but we must do it. We must try.”

Although Jack wasn’t optimistic about changing Shawn’s mind, which he imagined was set in stone, he had no idea about Sana.

“There’s one other thing,” James added. “Whether or not you’re willing to help, I must ask you to keep this in the strictest confidence. You cannot tell a soul, not even your wife. At the moment, the only people who know of the ossuary’s supposed contents are the Daughtrys, me, and you. It must stay that way. Can I have your word on that?”

“Of course,” said Jack, though he knew he would have a difficult time not telling Laurie. It was a truly fascinating story.

“Oh, dear God,” James voiced after glancing at his watch. “I must leave at once for Gracie Mansion.”

They stood, and James enveloped Jack in a rapid hug. As Jack returned the gesture, he could feel how plump his friend had become. Jack vowed to take him to task at a more opportune moment. Jack could also hear a slight wheeze when James breathed.

“So, you are willing to help in this most unfortunate episode?” James asked, as he snapped up his skullcap that he’d put on the chair to his left and returned it to his head.

“Of course,” Jack said, “but can I have permission to tell my wife? She’s the soul of discretion.”

James stopped abruptly. “Absolutely not,” he said, staring into Jack’s eyes. “I don’t know your wife, although I do hope to meet her. But I’m sure she has a friend whom she trusts as much as you trust your wife. I must insist you not breathe a word of this to her or anyone. Can you promise me that?”

“You have my word,” Jack responded quickly. He felt impaled by James’s glare.

“Good,” James responded simply. He turned and continued out of the room.

As if by magic, Father Maloney appeared near the foyer and handed His Eminence his coat and a stack of phone messages. While James struggled into his coat, Jack mentioned that his bomber jacket was in the study. Without a word, the priest quickly disappeared.

“I’ll hear from you soon?” James asked Jack.

“I’ll talk to the chief as soon as I get back to the OCME,” Jack assured him.

“Excellent! Here are the numbers for my cell and my private line here at the residence,” James said, handing Jack his personal business card. “Either call or e-mail as soon as you have Dr. Bingham’s response. I’ll be happy to talk with him directly, as need be.” He gripped Jack’s forearm and gave what Jack felt was a pathetic squeeze.

Father Maloney returned with Jack’s coat, bowing as Jack thanked him.

The next moment they were out the door. A shiny black limousine idled on the street, the liveried driver holding open the rear door. The archbishop climbed in, and the door was shut behind him. The car pulled away into the uptown traffic.

The next thing Jack heard over the sound of traffic was the slamming of the formidable residence’s door and the metallic and final click of its brass hardware. Jack looked back. Father Maloney was gone. Jack returned the glance at the quickly disappearing limo and wondered what life would be like being the archbishop and having a bevy of assistants to fulfill his every need. At first it sounded tempting, as it would certainly make life more efficient, but then he quickly realized he wouldn’t want to feel responsible for the emotional and spiritual well-being of millions of people, as he had a difficult enough time with one.