Brian Sadler Archaeology 04 - The Bones in the Pit

by Bill Thompson

  The FBI agent arranged to have a man from the US Embassy in Rome pick up a copy of the recording.

  Cardinal Conti had done one more thing to help the FBI. In order to get a Vatican passport John Spedino had been fingerprinted. It was a requirement no one could avoid, but behind the scenes the cleric had ensured the fingerprint card of this “friend of the Church” wasn’t processed through Interpol. Before contacting the authorities Conti had made a call. Suddenly the prints were distributed to the international police agency for comparison to known criminals worldwide.

  Four days later Special Agent Underwood called the Cardinal. Moretti, the agent said, was actually John Spedino, the missing godfather of the New York mob who had fled Guatemala while serving a life sentence for murder. He was a dangerous man and had once been the most powerful mobster in America, the agent told a seemingly incredulous Cardinal.

  “How did he get to Italy?”

  “Eminence, he somehow obtained a Vatican City passport and used it to travel from Central America to Italy. Interpol confirms the number of the passport he carries is not in the Vatican’s system. It’s probably forged.”

  Conti knew all this of course, having been instrumental in Spedino’s relocation to Italy after his escape. On the phone with the FBI agent Conti managed to sound suitably appalled. Despite expressing concern for his own safety, the Cardinal generously offered to try to help the FBI and Italian DIA flush Spedino out of hiding, since even Cardinal Conti actually didn’t know where Spedino lived in Rome. Spedino had taken the bait and the rest was history. The FBI got their man without spending too much time checking the doctored tape. The Cardinal was free from involvement. He had become a key asset in the apprehension of an international criminal instead of an accessory to a major crime. And the FBI agent had assured him that Conti’s own involvement in the entire matter would remain completely confidential. There was no need for a high-ranking official of the Church to be linked to an international crime and a Mafia godfather, they both agreed.

  -----

  That first afternoon after arriving from New York with the manuscript Conti had had one goal – to ensure the photocopy Conti had taken from the Pope’s office really was the key to decoding the manuscripts. And it had worked perfectly. It appeared that this single sheet was the key to unlocking the secret pages in the Templars volumes.

  The manuscript that had been stolen from Bijan Rarities contained over two hundred pages handwritten in Latin, medieval French and English by an unknown Templar scribe.

  Today Conti examined the first page of the volume to make sure it was what he expected. And it was – this was definitely the missing book from the set. Its cover bore the same bold words in Latin – Opus Militum Xpisti. The Work of the Soldiers of Christ. And this volume started with an entry in the year 1475. Perfect. The cleric then flipped to the end – the last few pages were the same strange symbols, the coded pages that he hoped he could now decipher. However, the last entry not in code was dated 1699. Again perfect. Chronologically this book dovetailed precisely in between two others that Dominic Conti had already seen, two of the four that resided in the Pope’s secret vault. This was indeed the missing book – the one that told what the Knights Templars were doing at the time the Money Pit on Oak Island was being constructed.

  Although he desperately wanted to tackle the coded pages first the cleric forced himself to be patient. He read the first four pages. They were in Latin. On page five Conti came to the first page of symbols. He stopped and reflected – he had learned nothing new so far; the book was basically a diary and these four pages were as routine as most of the material in the other volumes had been. They told of adventures and riches but Dominic was looking for secrets.

  Now that he had reached the page of symbols Conti picked up the sheet that would decode the information. The symbols in the manuscript were small and intricately drawn; there were several hundred of them on the page like letters in words. He looked at each symbol then painstakingly referred to the decoder, being extremely careful to get the solution right the first time. He decoded a few words but hadn’t really looked at them. He stopped a moment and glanced at what he had written. This time the language was medieval French; the Cardinal was thankful for the monotonous classes he’d endured in parochial school learning arcane languages. He never thought he’d have the slightest use for it but his efforts paid off today. Carefully avoiding reading the words until he finished the whole page, he continued his decryption.

  At one pm the cleric stopped his work. His eyes were tired and his mind numb from the tedious work. He was three-fourths of the way through the first encoded page and needed a break. He closed the ancient manuscript and put it and his code sheet into his desk drawer. He needed air so he walked down Via Tunisi to Via Candia and came to Piacere Molise. It was his favorite restaurant and so close to the Vatican he could be there in ten minutes. The owners were a husband and wife team who knew Cardinal Conti well. He was ushered to his favorite table and a glass of good white wine was soon in front of him.

  He ordered lunch but hardly touched his food, deep in thought about the work he was doing. He figured he had maybe a couple of hours left before this page was done. Then he could read the whole thing. In less than an hour he was back at his desk hunched over the manuscript, painstakingly decoding one symbol after another. By four pm he was finished. One encoded page down, twelve to go.

  Just to be safe Cardinal Conti scanned the decoded page into his computer. He folded the original, put it in his pocket and left his office. At his apartment Conti poured himself a double Scotch and water with a couple cubes of ice then settled into a comfortable chair in his living room. Eager to see what was so important that it had warranted encryption, he began to read.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  According to the New Testament book of John, Jesus was crucified on a hill called Golgotha. He hung on the cross for several hours. At one point Mary the mother of Jesus stood at the foot of the cross with “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” presumably John, most scholars believe.

  Looking down at her, Jesus said to his mother, “Woman, behold thy son.” He said to John, “Behold thy mother.” The Bible says from that point on the disciple took her “to his own home.”

  After Jesus died, a wealthy man named Joseph of Arimathea claimed the body. Joseph took the body of Jesus to his own new tomb and buried him. A very heavy stone was rolled into place to block the entrance and keep enemies from snatching the body of the man many had worshipped as the Messiah.

  Three days later Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was rolled away and it was open. Thinking the body of Jesus had indeed been stolen, she ran to tell his disciples. Arriving at the tomb, these men confirmed Mary’s story. The body of Jesus Christ was not there.

  -----

  Cardinal Conti began to read the words he had written down, the first fully decoded page of symbols. He skipped to the middle, then the end, translating the ancient French as he went, just to confirm he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. How odd, he thought.

  The words were familiar to him. It seemed strange to come across them in code in a Templars diary that otherwise related events in the late fifteenth century.

  Conti reached for a Bible sitting two feet away on his coffee table. He wanted to ensure the translation was not altered. It hadn’t been – it was the same. Verbatim. In medieval French, Dominic Conti had decoded John 19:25-27 and John 20:1-8. It was the account of Christ on the cross, entrusting his mother’s care to John, then the body of Jesus disappearing from the tomb where he had been buried, presumably resurrected to fulfill prophecy.

  Conti was dumbfounded. Why would anyone go to such painstaking effort, writing by hand one symbol at a time, to encode a simple passage from the Bible? Were the other coded pages the same – encoded verses from the best selling book in the world? Could the verses themselves be yet another code, meant to guide the reader to a different solution?

  He wa
s tired after the day’s painstaking work hunched over his desk squinting through a magnifying glass at a thousand symbols, decoding each one. Although the verses obviously must mean more than what they seemed, it was frustrating that he’d spent so much time on something he could have easily read in the Bible. Tomorrow he’d see what the next page of code said. Hopefully it would be more revealing. He downed the rest of his Scotch and poured another.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  London

  The call from Special Agent-in-Charge Underwood came at 4 pm London time. He reported to Brian that John Spedino had been captured in Rome earlier today. The mobster had been living in Italy for a few months with a new identity, apparently having somehow obtained a Vatican passport.

  The FBI agent said that a person in the Catholic Church was instrumental in the apprehension of Spedino. His identity would remain confidential but Underwood said there was no reason to suspect the Church itself had any involvement in the bombing. NYPD and FBI agents believed the man dressed as a priest who stole the manuscript was just that – a person using a costume as a diversion.

  Underwood told Brian they listened to a taped conversation. If it proved genuine then Spedino orchestrated the bombing of Bijan Rarities. To his old drug trafficking charges they now added murder and unlawful flight. He said other charges might come later.

  “From our source we understand John Spedino had the stolen manuscript. It’s now in the hands of the Catholic Church in Vatican City.” That was important information – the book rightfully belonged to the Crane family who had given it to Brian for valuation. Agent Underwood said he was contacting the Church to see if they would return the manuscript to Brian.

  Brian said, “Do you think John Spedino caused the murder of Arthur Borland here in London?” He thought it couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “Sorry I can’t answer that. I don’t have details on the Borland case. That’s being handled in London. I’m sure my counterparts there are going to investigate the possibility and once they know something we’ll see if anything ties together.”

  “Which brings me to one last question, Agent Underwood. Is there anything you know that would cause you to think my friend Nicole Farber is in any danger?”

  “We don’t have anything concrete. I know you think Spedino was systematically retaliating against the three of you. Maybe that’s true, but I think we got him before he could put anything in place against Miss Farber. And I’m sure you know she turned down my offer to give her some added protection. We’ll continue to keep an eye on that angle though. You have my word on that.”

  Later on, Brian called Nicole and gave her the news. She was relieved that Spedino was in custody and no longer a potential threat to Brian or her.

  Then she brightly said, “I’m rearranging some things at the office, sweetie, and I’m taking off a few days. In a couple of weeks will you still be in London or will you come back to New York by then? I’m hoping London – I haven’t been there in forever and you know how much I love it!”

  He said his plans were to remain in London for now – there was nothing other than checking on his New York apartment that couldn’t be handled by phone or email. And his neighbor was periodically ensuring things were good at home. She offered to fly over for a week and Brian jumped on it. He’d be damned glad to see her again. It seemed like ages since they were last together.

  -----

  There was a comfortable feeling in both libraries of the Monument Club. Brian was an occasional user of the one in New York, which was almost as extensive as the library here in London. The Club was famous for having the world’s largest collection of reference works on archaeology, anthropology and a plethora of related subjects. As in New York, the top two floors of the London building contained shelf after shelf of books, manuscripts and other written documents, just like a traditional library. Carrels were placed here and there, allowing members a quiet place to study and do research. Each carrel contained a computer that accessed the Club’s microfiche archives. Although many members preferred for one reason or another to see the original book or copy thereof, others preferred microfiche. There were several advantages – all documents held by the Monument Club in either location were on one computer and every single thing had been microfilmed. Members therefore could find one of nearly a hundred and fifty thousand works, examine it at their leisure, photocopy anything they needed from fiche, and order up the original item if necessary. It was very helpful and one of the things that made the Monument Club so popular among archaeologists, explorers and the like. Research was critical in the world of antiquities and for that, this place was the best on earth.

  Armed with a letter of authorization from Carissa Borland, Brian sat in the office of Jeffrey Montfort, the librarian who managed the sixty thousand volumes at the London Monument Club. The man was gaunt, pale, bookish – exactly as you’d expect for a librarian, Brian thought – and had held his position for twenty years. He was reputed to be extremely knowledgeable about the resources he oversaw.

  The man gave Carissa’s letter a brief glance, smiled and said, “Jeffrey Montfort, at your service. Please, call me Jeffrey. What can we do for you, Mr. Sadler?” He appeared glad to have a visitor. The place was otherwise as solemn as a church.

  “Call me Brian, please. You’re aware, I’m sure, of the death of Lord Borland. I’m interested in seeing anything you can give me about the research he was doing.”

  “Ah, yes. I was saddened to hear of the Earl’s demise. Of late he had become my best customer, as it were. He was here almost every day for the past few months. I’ll be glad to show you everything I can.”

  Jeffrey wheeled his chair to a computer on a side table, typed some entries and looked at the screen.

  “He looked at several things early on. Most recently he had been spending time with a set of Knights Templars manuscripts. Our volumes are copies. They were donated by the Caboto family of Italy. Marco Caboto died and his heirs donated a few thousand books, manuscripts, drawings and other documents to the Monument Club. Caboto gave the original Knights Templars books to the Vatican in the late 1800s, I believe.

  “Lord Borland told me there was a missing volume, one covering roughly the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. He and I spent a lot of effort trying to ascertain if the Club had a copy. The day before he died, in fact, I finally acknowledged drawing a blank on the search. He didn’t seem disappointed. In fact I gathered he had an idea. I’m not certain, but he just wasn’t as upset as I thought he’d be.”

  The librarian was savoring the conversation. Brian figured he spent a good deal of time alone.

  “Please go on.”

  “Since Lord Borland was so determined to find that manuscript I presume it holds information he desperately needed for whatever project he was working on. You know, I rarely know what’s behind the searches our members do. Sometimes I find out – now and then a book gets written, I read it and think to myself, ‘I found the information he’s using in that description.’ That’s gratifying, to think I can help people find things they need. You know? Sort of makes you feel good inside!”

  Brian smiled and nodded.

  “We’ve been talking about his search for a copy of a missing manuscript. The book itself actually exists – a week or so ago Arthur told me the missing volume had turned up. He said it was found in a collector’s library in Nova Scotia and that man’s heirs turned it over to a gallery in New York City – a friend of his owned the gallery, I think he said. Then I heard on the news something about a terrible accident at the gallery. The book was either destroyed or somehow went missing. I didn’t get a chance to ask Arthur more about it.”

  “The explosion at the gallery was no accident,” Brian said quietly.

  “Oh, so you heard about it too…oh my.” His face suddenly showed recognition. “Please forgive me, Brian. I just recalled what else Arthur told me about his friend. The gallery belonged to one of our members, a Yank who owned a London gallery as we
ll. Oh my. Oh my. That would be you, wouldn’t it? My apologies, sir, if I spoke out of turn. I do that sometimes.” He smiled ruefully.

  “No problem. Yes, it was my gallery. It was bombed and the manuscript was stolen. Several people died. I’m here to find out why.”

  “Oh my God. So there really is something very important in that missing volume, it appears. If it’s here, I’ll help you find it, in memory of my good friend Arthur Borland. I also want to help you figure out why someone stole the manuscript after bombing your shop. What a reprehensible crime.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Vatican City

  As Cardinal Conti read six more pages of the Templars manuscript he saw the same routine diary entries as were in the Vatican’s own volumes. There was nothing surprising. Many months separated the individual entries – the six pages he had just finished covered a twelve-year timespan. Like the others, this book contained the highlights of events in the lives of crusading soldiers, this time from the late 1400s to around 1700. Battles were fought, church relics saved from marauding bands of heathens, tribute demanded and collected from those under the protection of these roaming knights. The entries in the book were consistent with the activities generally attributed to the Knights Templars as the Middle Ages transitioned into the European rebirth, the Renaissance.

  Skimming the routine entries, Dominic saw nothing that captured his interest. He was in the year 1496. He turned the page and his adrenalin spiked – here were more tiny symbols. Conti had a quarterly bank meeting in thirty minutes so he quelled the urge to start decoding. Although it was frustrating, his project would have to wait until the afternoon.