The Atlantis Code

CHAPTER 16

The long climb robbed Father Sebastian of his breath and reminded him that he wasn’t as young as he remembered. Despite the daily constitutionals he took, he too often found himself in library stacks rather than at dig sites during the course of his working days. Reading was not the most aerobic of activities. But he still managed the task. He made it all the way up the sloping pile of broken stone and debris, even if he didn’t do it quite so quickly as his younger colleagues.

The halogen light one of the men raked across the interior of the next cave lit up the catacombs. The cave had been carved from solid rock and hollowed out to make room for the dead. Aisles wove through the walls that stood floor to ceiling like huge bookcases and reminded Sebastian of an old coil radiator.

“Looks like an apartment village of the dead,” one of the construction workers said quietly.

The wreckage and the debris had been spread on the other side of the opening as well. Rocks had tumbled down between the walls of graves.

Atlantis.

The word whirled through Sebastian’s brain. Atlantis was the most fabled of all lost worlds. And it seemed to him that at least a piece of its storied past was spread out before him. It was a truism in both his fields of expertise that the soul of a culture revealed itself in the way it treated the dead.

Sebastian turned so quickly, he almost fell on a loose rock. One of the Swiss Guards reached out reflexively to steady him.

“I need to get down there,” Sebastian said. “I need to see. Help me.”

“Father,” one of the Guards said softly, “the way doesn’t look safe.”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow you down there,” one of the construction men said. “The boss told us we could bring you this far, but that’s it.”

“Then I need to speak to Brancati,” Sebastian said to the nearest construction worker. “May I borrow your radio?”

“Mr. Brancati’s a stubborn man,” the worker said. “But you’re welcome to try.”

After the man showed Sebastian how to use the radio, the priest keyed the microphone. “Mr. Brancati? Dario?”

“Yes, Father,” Brancati replied.

Sebastian stared into the darkness that swathed the final resting places of the people who had once made the city above them teem with life. His conservative estimate was that there must be at least a thousand bodies within the crypt.

“I need to go down there,” Sebastian said.

“Wait,” Brancati said. “Let my team make sure everything’s safe.”

“Just for a short visit.” Sebastian knew a pleading note had entered his voice, and it embarrassed him.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I did not believe our excavation would play out this way,” Sebastian admitted. “I feel like the men who unearthed King Tut. I need to see what we’ve discovered.”

“You should remember what happened to those men. Couldn’t you wait till—?”

Sebastian interrupted. “Dario, I’m going to be on the phone with the pope in a few minutes. We already know we have leaks within the crew. We’re not going to be able to keep this secret. I don’t want to tell the pope we don’t yet know what we have. Do you?”

Brancati was silent for a moment. “All right, Father. But be careful. Down and up, and you’re out of there.”

“Of course.” Sebastian handed the radio back to the construction worker. “You heard?”

The man nodded but didn’t look particularly happy about the situation.

“You can either lead or follow me,” Sebastian said.

“I’ll lead, Father,” the young man said. “But you have to do what I say. I want both of us to stay safe.”

Sebastian nodded and prepared to follow.

Natasha took command of the situation at once. With Gallardo and his people just outside the door, there was no time to lose.

“Call Gary,” she directed, and hoped that the young man wasn’t already a casualty. “Tell him to get out of his room. Tell him to take the nearest stairwell.” She swept her T-shirt off and revealed her nudity beneath. Although Lourds and Leslie both stared at her, she ignored them. She wasn’t modest about her body. “Do it!”

Lourds reacted first and crossed to the room’s telephone.

“Let’s hope they go for your room first, Professor. It’s what I would do. And it will buy us time.” Natasha kept her pistol in hand as she located her jeans and pulled them on without benefit of panties. “Leslie, call the front desk and ask for security. Tell them someone is trying to break into your room. You’re next door to Lourds.”

Lourds talked quickly, but Natasha felt his eyes on her as she pulled on a light knit top. If they hadn’t been in fear for their lives, she might have felt a little smug about that. She noticed that Leslie was definitely aware of where Lourds’s attention was.

Unfortunately her jealousy might get them all killed. Leslie was still standing there, not following commands.

“Move it!” Natasha said.

Shocked into action, Leslie used her cell phone to call the desk. She was asking for security while Natasha found a pair of tennis shoes and pulled them on.

Natasha abandoned the rest of her wardrobe. She took a fanny pack from her suitcase that contained extra magazines for her pistol — bought from a local black market dealer the day they’d arrived in Leipzig — and strapped it around her waist.

Lourds put the phone down. “Gary is going to meet us at the lobby.”

“Security’s on the way,” Leslie said.

Tension rattled through Natasha’s stomach. It would have been better if she hadn’t been the only one here with security experience and wasn’t the only one with a weapon.

“We’ll go now,” Natasha said. “Once we’re through the door, head for the stairwell at the other end of the hallway. Move fast but don’t run. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves. And don’t go to the elevator.”

“It’s seven flights of stairs,” Leslie said.

“You wish to be a target to save a few steps, it is fine by me.” Natasha shrugged. The woman’s plan suited her just fine in her present mood. “You go for the elevator. You can decoy them. Try not to get killed too quickly.”

Leslie was shocked into silence by the blunt words.

Lourds reached out and took Leslie’s hand. “No elevators. We’ll go to the stairwell.”

“All right, then,” Natasha said.

A knock sounded against the door.

Cursing, not even thinking about looking through the peephole in case Gallardo’s men chose to shoot first and verify identities later, Natasha flung the door open and swung it wide. The move caught the two men outside flatfooted. They had their hands on their weapons beneath their jackets but hadn’t yet drawn them.

She aimed her pistol at the lead man’s face but knew the man behind him could see it as well. “Touch your weapons and you die,” she said in English, hoping that they spoke the language. “Get your hands up.”

She wasn’t certain if it was English the men understood or the blank, naked threat of the pistol. Either way, they lifted their hands.

“Inside. Quickly.” Natasha wiggled the gun to lead the way. She plucked their ear/throat headsets from their heads, then had Lourds search them and take their pistols. Both of them were silenced.

The men scowled.

“Down on your knees. Cross your ankles. Hands behind your head,” Natasha ordered as she took the pistols one at a time from Lourds. She shoved her own at the back of her waistband, then held one of the thug’s silenced pistols pointed at them. It would be justice if they were killed with their own weapons, she thought.

Neither of them moved.

“Okay, we try this again,” Natasha said. “And I’m going to shoot any of you that don’t speak English.”

Lourds rattled off something in Italian. The men quickly got into position.

Okay, Natasha thought, perhaps they really don’t speak English.

At the end of the hall, Natasha heard a door break. They were running out of time.

“Let’s go.” Natasha opened the door again and motioned for the others to precede her. She kept her gun trained on their captives.

“I will shoot the first one of you who comes out of this door,” she said, and hoped they understood her intent, if not her words.

Then she stepped out into the hall and followed the rest of the crew to the stairwell. She kept one of the silenced pistols out of sight along her leg, and kept her eyes on the door they’d just exited. The men they’d left in her room weren’t going to stay there long. She knew that. Less than six steps into their escape, she heard the door open behind her.

“Gallardo!” one of them yelled.

Natasha brought the silenced pistol up. She fired two rounds. Both of them struck the door within the inches of the man’s face.

He ducked back inside the room as the low-velocity bullets failed to penetrate the door. But the damage had already been done.

Even though the rounds were silenced, Gallardo heard her.

At the other end of the hall, Gallardo and his men stood in front of Lourds’s door. Gallardo turned at the sound of the coughing noises the pistol made and the slaps of the bullets against the door.

By that time Lourds had reached the stairwell door. He opened it and went through.

Natasha took advantage of the cover provided by the stairwell door to get off enough shots to make them duck. “Go!” she shouted over her shoulder. “I will hold them back.”

Lourds hesitated.

“Go!” Natasha ordered, then ducked herself as bullets struck the wall and the door.

Leslie pulled Lourds into motion and they started down the steps.

Pressed against the doorframe, Natasha waited a moment, then whirled around. She tried to keep herself calm and collected, but it was hard. Even when she and Chernovsky were on the streets, she hadn’t faced these kinds of odds in a gunfight. There were occasional instances where they chased a team of criminals, but usually they sought only one man. Never more than three. She’d counted at least five in the hallway.

She sighted on the man closest to the hallway door and fired at his center mass. He was twenty feet out and running hard. She fired her captured pistol dry and saw the slide lock back.

The man she’d shot stumbled and fell headlong into the floor. He twitched and spasmed. The other men in the hallway flattened in doorway. A hail of gunfire drummed the door.

Natasha dodged back inside the door and tossed the empty pistol away. She drew the other silenced one she’d seized and flipped the safety off. Studying the door, she saw that none of the bullets had penetrated the metal shell. Her enemies’ low-velocity silenced rounds had less power than her primary weapon had.

Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. Instead she reached overhead and raked the pistol’s long silencer through the fluorescent lights. Glass rained down as the tubes exploded and the stairwell landing dimmed. With lights above and below, the area didn’t go completely dark.

She forced herself to squat down in the corner by the stairwell. Far below, she heard Lourds and Leslie running. Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell. They seemed to be making good time.

The stairwell door opened cautiously. Natasha held the pistol steady.

Come on, she thought. She didn’t like ambushing anyone, but when it came down to her survival and the completion of her sister’s goals, she wasn’t going to hesitate.

She owed Gallardo and his men for Yuliya. There was no mercy in her as she waited.

A man looked around the door. She shot him between the eyes. She was in full flight before his body hit the ground. Seeing the dead man in the doorway would hopefully give the others pause before they followed.

She ran as if her life depended on it — it probably did.

Five floors down, Natasha caught up with Lourds and Leslie. Lourds was leading the way and struggling to keep Leslie on her feet. That surprised Natasha. She’d expected the professor to be struggling, not Leslie. He was in much better shape than she’d thought. And Leslie was crumpling under the pressure. Or was it that simple?

Lourds opened the lobby door and moved to step through.

“Wait,” Natasha said. She ran up next to the professor. Listening to Leslie gasping for air left her secretly pleased, and she was surprised she could still be that vindictive while running for her life.

Hiding the pistol behind her back, Natasha peered out into the lobby. She couldn’t see the front desk from her position, but she could spy no one waiting for them.

“We’ll leave the car and take a cab,” Natasha told Lourds and Leslie. “In case Gallardo has managed to hack the hotel’s database and get information on us, he won’t be able to trace us by the license plate.”

Lourds nodded.

“Go,” Natasha said. “I’ll cover you.”

Around the next corner, two men in suits held pistols out.

“Hotel security!” one of the men said in German. “Put the weapon down!”

Once Sebastian was through climbing the initial barrier of rocks and debris, the going got much easier. He trembled with excitement and terror as he stepped among the graves. If this place was truly what it was supposed to be, he had cause to be cautious.

The two Swiss Guards stayed at his side. They carried flashlights as well.

Drawn by the eerie sight of the dead lying in their simple graves, Sebastian knelt before the nearest stack of them and gazed into the hollow spot. The hole had been hand-carved. Rather than being merely hacked into place, though, the corners of the niche were rounded off and the measurements were equal. It was a carefully prepared receptacle for the remains and artifacts that occupied it.

All the graves showed the same care and skill.

Sebastian gazed at the body that lay there. Judging from the bones, it was a man. The girth of the pelvic bones revealed that. They poked against the shroud. Using his arm from fingertip to elbow, Sebastian judged that the man had been nearly six feet in height, quite tall for the presumed period of the burial. The formation of the skull and features looked normal. No bone binding or alterations in dentition or other ceremonial changes to the human form he’d seen in his countless digs across the world.

He shone his flashlight over the remnants of the shroud. He wanted to tear it off and see what lay beneath, but he knew he couldn’t. Before anything was done in the burial vault, everything had to be digitally recorded, then measured, and then cataloged as the examinations took place.

But he could see bits and pieces through the holes in the shroud. The man had worn a gray or black or dark blue robe. It was hard to judge the color after so long. The teeth looked like they had been in very good condition at the time of his death. That was odd because most humans who had lived to adulthood that long ago displayed dental issues. Tribes that had eaten millet and other coarse grains usually showed wear and tear to the teeth from the constant grinding it took to process their food. Tribes that ground their grains also showed wear and tear — the stones used to process the grains left grit in the flours, and that wore away at the dental enamel almost as much as eating unground grains. This man had teeth a modern actor would have been proud to display.

Metal gleamed at the dead man’s neck under his crossed hands.

Leaning into the burial crypt a little more, Sebastian used a pencil from his pocket to gently shift the shroud to reveal the prize beneath. It belonged to a necklace made of white gold or silver.

The pendant was in the shape of a man with his right hand offered in friendship. He carried a book in his left hand.

“Oh, God,” Sebastian said as recognition of the image seared through his mind. “Forgive us. Forgive what we have done to You and Your Son.”

It was true. All of it.

And if this was true, then the story of the Secret Texts had to be true as well.

Sebastian reached for the necklace with a shaking hand. He touched the metal and felt a small electric shock at contact, but he didn’t know if the sensation was real or imagined.

The skeleton’s arm leaped up and brushed his as if trying to grab it.

Sebastian cried out in fear and jerked back. The back of his head slammed against the crypt and nearly knocked him out. The pain left him dazed as he sat heavily on his posterior.

In the next instant, the skeleton leaped from the alcove and fell against his legs.

Only then did Sebastian realize that the whole cavern was shaking. The skeleton wasn’t moving under its own power. He looked down the row of crypts as several other skeletons vacated their premises and clattered to the stone floor. Embalmed corpses fell, too, with a sound much different from the crack of hard bone against the stone floor.

Lights in the hands of the other men whipped around the cavern’s interior. The panorama of illumination presented a dizzying light show.

Then someone cried out, “Flood! Flood!”

It’s happening again, Sebastian thought. The sea’s reclaiming Atlantis and the Garden.

The Swiss Guards grabbed him under the arms and yanked him to his feet as inches of water suddenly covered the stone floor. They ran and pushed him back toward the opening they’d come through. With every step, though, the water swirled higher and higher.

Confronted by the hotel security staff, Natasha froze for just a moment as she tried to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to get embroiled with the local security people, and she couldn’t just put down her weapon, because then they’d be sitting ducks for Gallardo’s people.

At that moment Gary stepped out of the lobby area and walked up behind the security men. He leaned over the first man’s shoulder and whispered something.

“Horst,” the first man said as he slowly raised his arms. “He has a gun on me. Surrender.”

The second guard hesitated for just a moment. Then he raised his weapon, too.

Natasha rushed forward and took both men’s weapons. “Down on your faces,” she ordered.

As they got down, Gary flashed her a sickly grin and showed her the ballpoint pen he’d used to run his bluff.

Spare me Americans and Brits and their macho television shows, Natasha said to herself.

“You could have gotten killed,” she whispered to Gary.

“I kind of planned not to,” he replied hoarsely. “And it wasn’t like I had a lot of time to figure things out.”

“Go.” Natasha pushed him into motion toward the main entrance. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Gallardo start out of the fire escape.

She lifted the pistol and fired rapidly. Her bullets drummed the door and wall. The small inset window emptied in jagged pieces.

Gallardo ducked back into the stairwell and cursed loudly.

By then Lourds, Leslie, and Gary had reached the main entrance. They were through it by the time Natasha arrived. They ran toward the street and tried to flag down a passing taxi, but it kept going.

The next taxi had its light off and obviously had no intention of stopping. Natasha stepped out into the street, drew her own pistol because it wasn’t silenced, and fired into the air.

The flat report echoed across the street, and the muzzle flash reflected in the windshield. Natasha aimed the pistol at the taxi driver.

The taxi screeched to a stop in front of Natasha. Keeping her weapon trained on the driver even though she had no intention of shooting him, she made her way to the driver’s side door.

“Get out,” she told the driver in German.

The driver got out while Lourds helped Leslie into the rear seat. He didn’t join her, though. Instead he sat up front with Natasha. Gary got in on the other side.

As soon as they were aboard, Natasha put her foot down on the accelerator.

“Where are we going?” Lourds asked.

“I don’t know,” Natasha replied.

“The airport,” Leslie said. “I contacted my supervisor earlier and cleared us for a trip to West Africa.”

Natasha looked at the woman sharply. “You did what?”

“Professor Lourds—”

Now we’re back to Professor Lourds? Natasha wondered. After you’ve bedded him?

“—has said that he thinks he’s gotten all the information that was possible at the Max Planck Institute,” Leslie continued. “He thinks there are more complete records and ties to our missing artifacts in Africa.”

As she drove, Natasha said, “You’ve been talking to your supervisor this whole time? Telling him what we are doing?”

“Yes.” Leslie looked sullen. “I have to. The corporation has been paying for everything. They deserve to know what we’re up to.”

Natasha looked at Lourds and couldn’t help feeling that part of this was his fault. “You do realize that’s how Gallardo has been keeping tabs on us? Through the BBC’s financial support?”

To his credit, Lourds looked guilty. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you know it now.” Natasha turned away from him, too angry to speak for the moment. Nothing good would come out of her mouth, and she didn’t want to say anything she’d feel guilty about or regret later. She concentrated on her driving as she looked for a place to dump the taxi. They couldn’t take it all the way to the airport. Surely the driver had already called in his stolen vehicle. It was time for new wheels.

“The woman stopped a taxi in front of the hotel. I will track her through the streets.”

Until she abandons the vehicle, Gallardo thought as he ran back up the seven stories to the roof. His legs burned from the effort, and panic started to set in when he thought he might not make it.

“No,” Gallardo huffed as he dragged himself up the last flight of stairs. DiBenedetto and Farok followed him. Pietro and Cimino were both down. The sounds of pursuit — footsteps ringing on the steps — echoed after them. “We have bigger problems right now.”

Up on the roof, Gallardo ran and waved his flashlight. He watched the helicopter approach the rooftop and hang in the air only inches from the surface. He ran toward the craft and pulled himself into the passenger seat.

“What about the others?” DiBenedetto asked from the rear section.

“They’re not here,” Gallardo said. “They’re not coming. You wish to die or be captured while we wait for them?” He pulled the headset on and gave the pilot a thumbs-up.

The pilot lifted the helicopter immediately and swung to the west. The emergency plans were clear. They’d planned to get out of the city and drop the helicopter in the trees. Air traffic control might be able to track the chopper, but the police wouldn’t be able to catch them before they drove away in the cars stashed at the staging area outside the city.

But right now Gallardo was less concerned with where they were going than he was with where they’d been.

Back on the hotel rooftop, the doors from the stairwell opened again and two of Gallardo’s hired help rushed out. They stood and stared after the departing helicopter.

Only seconds later, hotel security staff flanked by Leipzig police officers came through the door. Muzzle flashes lit up the night briefly as the two men exchanged fire with the police and security guards. When it ended, both of Gallardo’s hired men were down.

Quietly, Gallardo damned Lourds. The linguistics professor was having an incredible run of luck. But there would be an accounting. No one’s luck lasted forever. He turned to DiBenedetto.

“Did you get the chance to raid the professor’s room?”

DiBenedetto nodded and handed over the book bag holding all the papers and books he’d been able to get from Lourds’s hotel room.

Gallardo searched through the bag. Most of the information seemed to be centered on West Africa, and on a single tribe. He smiled. At least they had a probable destination to check out if the professor disappeared.

“Natasha has a point,” Lourds said quietly. “Gallardo and his men have managed to dog our heels. Your continued contact with your employer could present a danger to us.”

Leslie glared at him in exasperation. “I understand that she has a point. Truly I do. But I also have a point: Without the backing of my corporation, we wouldn’t be here. And we won’t be able to continue. Unless you think we can hitchhike to Dakar?” Spots of color darkened her face as they sat in an all-night diner.

Gary was at the counter flirting with the female cashier. She’d been drawn to the concert T-shirt he was wearing that featured a German speed metal band. Lourds thought the cameraman was definitely having a better time than he was.

“No,” Lourds said finally. “I don’t think we could hitchhike to Dakar.”

“Good. At least that’s something.”

“I don’t think she was accusing you of betraying us—”

“Trust me,” Leslie said, “I know an accusation when I hear one. That was definitely an accusation.”

“Do you really think she would believe you would risk your own life by telling Gallardo and his minions where we were?”

“Maybe you should ask her. She’s the one with all the answers. Maybe she believes I think getting shot at serves some special, twisted kink I have.”

Lourds frowned. He hated getting in the middle of a war of wills between women. On one hand, it could be dangerous for everyone. On the other, they could join forces at any moment and come after him together. In many ways, he worried about that danger more than he worried about getting shot at.

“Perhaps you might ask your supervisor to see if he couldn’t get us the money he agreed to let us use in a different fashion.”

Leslie crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you could call Harvard and ask them for the money to fund an expedition to Dakar?”

Lourds sipped his green tea and thought about that. He almost laughed. He’d have a better chance of hitchhiking to West Africa. Especially since he couldn’t tell them what the expedition was really about.

“No,” he said. “You’re right.” He paused. “We’re not in a good spot. The question right now is whether we should continue, knowing these people are out there trying to kill us.”

“Could you actually walk away from this thing right now? Just forget about it after we’ve come this far? Do you know what kind of story this is going to be?”

“This isn’t a game, Leslie. Those people murdered one friend of mine and almost killed another. And that doesn’t count all the other corpses they’ve left scattered in their wake. Remember how they killed your producer?”

“Do you want them to get away with that? Do you want them to get whatever it is they’re after? Don’t you want to save the artifacts?”

“This is too big for us,” he said. “We need to get help.”

“We went to the police. In Alexandria, remember? They didn’t do anything. The only police that seems to be interested in acting on this is Natasha.”

“She has a vested interest. They killed her sister.”

“So do you. They’ve been shooting at you for days. They nearly killed your neighbor. Just think, if you hadn’t been there the day they took the bell, we wouldn’t have had a clue about what was going on.”

“We still don’t.”

“Then why are we going to Dakar?”

Lourds didn’t answer. She had a point, but he didn’t have to admit it.

“I don’t think it’s just because you’d like to go to West Africa,” Leslie said. She leaned in closer to him. “You believe there’s an answer there.” Her eyes held his. “You believe it.”

Seeing the desire for knowledge in her eyes, Lourds felt his own need to know fanned to a fever pitch. “Maybe.”

“Why do you think something’s there?”

“Because the Yoruba culture is the oldest we’ve yet encountered. Because I’ve seen hints that they had these instruments at one time. If these instruments all came from one area, it stands to reason that they came from the oldest known civilization.”

“Then we need to go there.”

“Those men may be waiting,” Lourds said.

“And they may be waiting back home for you as well,” Natasha said.

Glancing over his shoulder, Lourds found her standing there. He hadn’t even heard Natasha approach. It was another grim reminder that he was clearly out of his element while dealing with dangerous felons.

“As I was telling Leslie, we should go to the police.”

“The police are seeking to detain us. They’ve got witnesses who have seen us shoot at armed men. It doesn’t inspire trust in a municipal police department to have that happen. The radio is full of our descriptions and the news that we are wanted.”

“That’s just absolutely brill,” Leslie grumped. “I suppose you know that getting out of the country by airline, train, ship, and bus is absolutely out of the question if what you say is true.”

“I do. However, I was able to secure a car so we can get to France.”

“Why France?” Leslie asked.

“We’re not wanted in France,” Natasha replied. “The E.U. has open borders. We won’t be stopped entering France if we drive. From France we should be able to book passage to Dakar.”

Gary wandered over from the counter. He looked slightly nervous. “I was just watching the telly. You were right. We made the news.”

Looking at the television mounted above the counter, Lourds watched as hotel surveillance camera footage of the gunfight at the Radisson rolled. So far police and hotel management weren’t releasing any details, but four men were confirmed dead at the scene.

“You said you only killed two,” Leslie accused.

“I did,” Natasha replied.

And that exchange drew attention from nearby patrons.

Lourds gathered his backpack and eased out of the booth. “On that note, ladies and gentleman, I think it best if we adjourn somewhere else. Before the police arrive.”

“Cardinal Murani? Yes, he’s here.” Beppe’s hoarse voice carried in the quiet library.

Seated at the table, Murani gazed at the drawing of the man offering his right hand while holding a book in his left. The figure had occupied his thoughts for years.

No, he corrected himself. Not the figure. The book.

Footsteps headed in his direction.

Cardinal Giuseppe Rezzonico followed the old librarian to Murani.

“Cardinal.” Beppe bared a toothless grin. “You have a guest.”

“Thank you, Beppe.” Murani waved to a chair on the other side of the table.

Rezzonico seated himself. He looked like he’d just gotten up from bed and wasn’t too happy about it. “Father Sebastian’s excavation team just began exploring the new cavern they found.”

“Cave number forty-two.” Murani nodded. He’d been keeping up with the exploration of the catacombs.

“It turned out to be a burial vault. A large one.”

Murani couldn’t hold himself back. “Who was buried there?”

“We don’t know. The Swiss Guard relayed us digital images over the Internet.” Rezzonico passed over a digital camera. “I downloaded them to this.”

Murani took the camera and quickly flicked through the images.

“This is them,” Murani said hoarsely. “The Atlanteans. Those that lived in the Garden.”

“Perhaps.”

Murani couldn’t believe it. He stared at Rezzonico and anger filled him. “How can you doubt this? If your faith were as strong as it should be, you’d know this for what it was.”

“It’s a burial vault,” Rezzonico said. “That’s all I know for certain.”

After checking the size of the digital files, Murani discovered they were almost five megabytes each. They could be blown up considerably.

Without a word, Murani got up from the table and walked to the back of the room. High-tech digital equipment occupied a small area in the stacks.

He sat at the desk and popped the SDRAM memory chip from the camera and inserted it into the reader slot on the front of the computer. It took only a few keystrokes to bring up the images.

“This isn’t why I came here,” Rezzonico protested. “We need to talk.”

“I’m listening. But let’s look while we talk.” Murani examined each of the pictures in turn. Slowly, he followed Father Sebastian into the crypt.

“The council wants to talk to you. They don’t believe that you had nothing to do with Father Fenoglio’s death.”

For a moment Murani couldn’t remember who Father Fenoglio was.

“They know the pope had Father Fenoglio following you,” Rezzonico said.

“The pope should feel guilty about that. Not me. I didn’t put Fenoglio in harm’s way.” Murani glanced up at Rezzonico. “Furthermore, why didn’t the council see fit to tell me that the pope had someone following me?”

“They thought Fenoglio would be more circumspect.”

“Why would the pope assign someone to spy on me?”

“Because he doesn’t trust you.”

“I’ve proved myself very trustworthy for years.”

“Not to this pope. He believes you’re far too interested in the Secret Texts for your own good.”

“I’m here, not in Cádiz,” Murani snorted. “I couldn’t be much further removed from the Secret Texts. The pope has already seen to that.”

“Yet here you are,” Rezzonico said, “prowling through the stacks dedicated to the Secret Texts and all that pertains to the Garden of Eden.”

Murani took a deep breath and let it out. “I should have been the one to go to Cádiz. I should be the one heading up the excavation. No one knows more about the Secret Texts, the Garden of Eden, and Atlantis than I do. No one.”

“The Society didn’t want to fight the pope.”

“The pope isn’t right in his approach to the Church!”

Self-consciously, Rezzonico glanced around. “Please keep your voice down, Stefano. I beg you. You’re already in enough trouble.”

“What trouble?”

“Didn’t you hear me? The council suspects that Fenoglio’s death was no accident.”

“Of course it was no accident. The carjacker ran him down. I know. I was there. I nearly was killed myself — the bruises haven’t fully faded yet.”

“And the car backed over him, according to the police report.” Rezzonico’s gaze remained level. “That was something you didn’t mention.”

Murani realized he hadn’t mentioned that. At the time it had seemed like it would draw too much attention to the incident. He had forgotten about the forensic work that could be done. “I was in shock. It all happened so fast.”

“The police say there was no blood in the car’s interior.”

“The carjacker hit me again and again when I got out of the car,” Murani said. “He didn’t want me to escape and identify him.” That was an easy adjustment to make to the story.

Rezzonico was quiet for a moment. “The only reason the police haven’t questioned you further in this matter is because we have interceded in your behalf.”

“ ‘We’?” Murani showed the older man a mirthless smile. “Now the Society protects me?”

Rezzonico frowned. “Your disrespect grows insufferable, Stefano.”

“No,” Murani growled, “the stupidity shown by the Society — and you — deserves my derision. The Society protects me to protect itself. If I were to be arrested for Fenoglio’s murder, do you think I would continue to protect the secrets the Society of Quirinus has been covering up for generations?”

“If you loved the Church—”

“The Church is the bride of God. She’s supposed to serve God. She isn’t serving God by growing weaker and more tolerant every year. She’s supposed to be strong and run God’s house here in this world. She has a mission—”

The newest image on the computer caught Murani’s attention and froze his diatribe in midword.

A necklace lay revealed in the image. It showed a man offering his hand while his other hand held a book.

“Sebastian found it,” Murani whispered in disbelief. “Look here.”

“So I see. And he may have lost it,” Rezzonico said. “Shortly after this cave was found, after the images were relayed to the Society, there was a collapse. Water flooded the burial chamber. No one knows if Sebastian or the men in that room are still alive.”