The Sacred Bones

by Michael Byrnes

  The cardinal's face went a ghastly white as he stared at the human skull and bones, the ultimate relic. When he looked up again, his eyes had lost their fiery glow. "You sanctimonious bastard. You'll certainly go to Hell for this."

  "I wanted you to make your peace with him before I perform a proper burial," said Donovan. He'd felt terrible carrying the sacred bones around in what amounted to little more than a duffel bag. But yesterday afternoon, he had stopped at DHL to arrange for the ossuary to be airfreighted immediately to Jerusalem. The manuscript had been sent separately to Razak, the Muslim courier he'd met in Rome. The spikes and coins were stowed in the rental car's glove compartment alongside the Beretta.

  "You son of a bitch," Santelli's voice was strangely calm.

  What happened next was a blur.

  Yanking his hands out from his pockets, Donovan clasped the old man's wrist with his right hand, simultaneously revealing the small plastic syringe with his left. Thrusting it deep into the cardinal's upper arm, he pressed down on the plunger.

  With a look of utter disbelief, the cardinal tore away, collapsed into his chair, and grabbed the site of the injection. Before he could yell for Father Martin, the Tubarine had clamped down on his heart, bringing it to a grinding halt. Buckling over in agony, Santelli's hands clawed for the pain, trying to tear it from his chest.

  Patrick Donovan watched the body give a last convulsive shake. "God's will," he said quietly. He wasn't sure what the syringe had contained, but was fairly certain it had been Conte's method for killing the docent found at the Torlonia catacomb's front desk. Within these walls, there weren't many options for a lethal weapon. So Donovan had taken a lucky chance on the needle.

  Murder violated everything he held sacred, breaking his vow to God that he had cast aside his horrible past. But unless Santelli was taken down, Charlotte Hennessy would surely die, and he too. The Israelis would never know the truth and an innocent archaeologist would shoulder the blame for a crime he hadn't committed.

  Carefully gathering up the duffel bag, Donovan exited into the antechamber, advising Father Martin that the cardinal wished not to be disturbed and to hold all calls.

  Father Martin nodded and eyed Donovan curiously as he hurriedly made his way past the Swiss Guards and out into the main corridor. Once Donovan was out of sight, he quickly made his way into Santelli's office. There he saw the purple skullcap poking above the chair facing the window. Calling out the cardinal's name twice, he slowly rounded the desk.

  67.

  JERUSALEM

  Razak waited for Farouq to put on his reading glasses, all the while staring at the ancient scroll intently.

  Clearing his throat, the Keeper began to read out loud.

  12 December Anno Dominae 1133

  It was Saint Helena who first discovered the true origins of Jesus Christ. She came to the Holy Land in search of historical evidence proving Christ was not a figment of legend or lore. During her pilgrimage, she found what she believed was Christ's empty tomb, and discovered the wooden cross upon which Jesus suffered and died, buried deep beneath the Holy Sepulchre. Today, we carry the true cross in battle to defend our faith and God. Many similar relics have we been rumored to possess. But what I have discovered on this day is the most wondrous yet.

  But first I must explain how this came to be.

  In Jerusalem, there has existed for centuries Christians who follow not the words of our Holy Bible. They are a peaceful group who have survived many centuries in isolation, calling themselves the "Order of Qumran." I have met them and learned much about their faith. At first, their beliefs shocked me, for their ancient scrolls say many things to contradict God's word. The Order believed that Christ died a mortal death and that only his spirit rose from the tomb to appear to his disciples. They even claimed Christ's body still lay in a hidden place awaiting resurrection to usher in the Day of Judgment and that his bones would once again be reclaimed by God's spirit.

  I questioned the origins of their writings. They insisted the teachings and scripture existed long before the "The book of the Romans."

  Hearing these words, I was inclined to lash out. But, intrigued, I was compelled to learn more. Over time, these people, kind and generous, had become our friends. Through careful study, I began to understand that their beliefs, though untraditional, were rooted in true faith and reverence. Their God was our God. Their Christ was our Christ. Interpretation was all that seemed to divide us.

  On the 11th day of October, 1133, Jerusalem was attacked by a band of Muslim warriors. Though we were able to drive them back, it wasn't before our Christian brothers of Qumran had fallen, for they tried to defend their holy city. Their leader, an old man named Zachariah, was wounded severely, and dying when I found him. In his possession was an old book. Knowing that none of his brothers had survived the attack, he gave it to me. He whispered that the book contained many things, including an ancient secret long protected by his people-- the location of the chamber where Christ's body had been interred. Then God claimed the old man's spirit.

  I employed trusted local scribes to translate the book's writings, most of which were in Greek. It was then that I discovered that the text was a journal written by a scholarly man named Joseph of Arimathea. In the book, I also found a map drawn by Joseph, marking the location of Christ's body. It was then that I realized the tomb was buried beneath our very feet, under the site of Solomon's Temple.

  I ordered my men to find Joseph's tomb. After weeks of digging and breaching three ancient walls, we reached solid earth. Here my hopes would have easily been lost, for nothing would imply man had touched this spot. But Joseph of Arimathea's precise measurements suggested further digging was required. Continuing, we first cleared soft debris, realizing what we had thought to be the face of the mountain was actually a massive circular stone. It took four men to roll it back. Behind it was a hidden chamber, precisely where Joseph had indicated.

  Inside I found nine stone boxes inscribed with the names of Joseph and his family. To my amazement, a tenth box bore the sacred symbol of Jesus Christ, and in it were human bones and relics that could only have come from the cross.

  To uphold my sworn oath to protect God and his son Jesus Christ, I have secured these wondrous relics beneath Solomon's Temple. For if the old man taught truth, these bones may one day be brought back to life so that the souls of all men might be saved.

  I have named Joseph of Arimathea's book Ephemeris Conlusio. In it are the secrets to our salvation.

  May God forgive me for my deeds.

  His faithful servant,

  Hugues de Payen

  Farouq carefully rolled up the yellowed parchment and returned it to the casket. He removed his glasses and sat back, waiting for Razak's response.

  Finally Razak spoke up. "Tell me if I've got this right. In the twelfth century, the Knights Templar befriended a group of radical Jews-- or perhaps Christians-- who gave them the Ephemeris Conlusio, which led them to Jesus's body, buried in a secret room beneath this very platform. Almost nine hundred years ago the Templars secured the crypt and secreted that casket together with the Ephemeris Conlusio beneath the floor. You yourself found the casket during excavations here in 1997."

  "That is all correct."

  Razak tried to absorb it. He was tempted to ask Farouq why the Templars would have hidden such extraordinary relics. But he knew the Keeper would only be able to speculate. It was obvious that the Knights Templar had been protecting an ancient secret. Knowing something of the tenuous relationship between the pope and the mercenaries during that time, it was quite possible that this knowledge had been retained as insurance-- perhaps even blackmail-- against the Church. It certainly helped explain the Templars' rapid rise to power. But the piety in Hugues de Payen's letter had suggested something else. Perhaps the Templars had retained noble intentions? After all, they too had once been protectors of this place. "How were you able to convince the Vatican to take action?"

  "Easily. I spoke to Fath
er Patrick Donovan, the Vatican Library's head curator. He is the one man I knew of who would have been absolutely aware of the Ephemeris Conlusio's existence and, much more importantly, its implications. I mentioned it by name and he recognized it immediately. A few days later you delivered it to him in Rome. I correctly assumed that he would escalate things fast."

  "What if he hadn't recognized its name?"

  Farouq scoffed. "That wouldn't have really mattered. I would still have persuaded him. The message couldn't have been ignored."

  "You took a very big risk doing all of this."

  Based on that reaction, Farouq thought it best not to inform Razak that he'd further aided the thieves by smuggling explosives into Jerusalem-- supplied by his Hezbollah contacts in Lebanon equally eager to topple the state of Israel. A second procurement had also been made at the thieves' behest-- a heavy-duty coring drill that Farouq had been told to purchase abroad in cash. Hezbollah had helped with that too.

  "Probability, Razak, my friend. It's all about odds on a favorable outcome. In this case the numbers were in our favor, and I acted as I saw fit. I've said before that averting discovery of Jesus's body preserves the teachings of both Islam and Christianity. Very regrettably lives have been sacrificed in the process...although they were only Jews. But if we'd done nothing, there would have been a much higher death toll-- both physical and spiritual-- of both Muslims and Christians. Only the Jews would have gained at our expense. I think you'll agree that this outcome's the best we could have expected."

  Razak had to concede that there was undeniable, yet twisted, logic to Farouq's thinking. It had been extremely devious damage control. "And how do you feel having learned of these contradictions to our teachings?"

  Farouq stared at the ceiling. "None of this should mean that we question our faith, Razak. It may mean we need to dig deeper for meaning. Even if those stolen bones truly were Jesus's remains, I will not waver in my faith. Not over some old bones."

  Razak recalled Barton saying something about pre-biblical texts viewing resurrection as a spiritual transformation-- not a physical one. Though the word "resurrection" had survived for centuries, perhaps its meaning had somehow evolved into a more literal definition.

  "And Solomon's Temple?"

  The Keeper pursed his lips. "Ancient history. Just like the city of Jebus that King David conquered and renamed Jerusalem one thousand years before Jesus's time. The Jews shed a lot of innocent blood to lay claim to this so-called 'Promised Land.' Yet when the tables were turned, they felt violated. No one truly owns this place except Allah. For now, the Jews have regained control of Israel. But our very presence here, on this site, reminds them that the tide will once again reverse. Ultimately, it is up to Allah to decide who will be victorious." Farouq circled round the desk and placed a hand on Razak's shoulder. "Let us go to the mosque and pray."

  68.

  ROME

  Aldrich moved closer to Charlotte. "Charlie, what if I told you we could wipe away any disease with one injection-- a serum so powerful that it can recode damaged DNA?"

  Her mouth opened, but no words came. She stared from the vial, to Evan, and back again. Could it be?

  "When I was at your house last week, I saw the medication in your refrigerator-- the Melphalan...with your name on it."

  A lump settled into her chest and her eyes welled up with tears. "I've been meaning to tell you, but-- "

  She collapsed in his arms.

  "It's okay," he said softly.

  Her tears came stronger now. Then she sat bolt upright. "My pills! I left my pills back at the Vatican. I'm supposed to take them every day!"

  "Don't worry about that," he assured her. "You don't need them. Not anymore."

  She was momentarily puzzled.

  "Myeloma is one tough cancer," he explained. "I know this must be tearing you up. And I know it's probably why you've been distant lately. I pushed too hard last week. You've got so many other things on your mind right now. It was selfish of me."

  Sobbing, she nodded. "I...I haven't told anyone."

  "I think that from now on, we need to make sure that you start opening up a little more before you emotionally implode," he said with a smile. "I can take the tough stuff, Charlie. You need to be able to trust me."

  Nodding, she reached over for the tissue box on the nightstand. "I've got to tell my dad, too." She dabbed the tears away. "But I'm just afraid. He's already had to deal with losing mom..."

  "You're not going to have to tell him."

  Evan's comments were starting to bother her. "What are you talking about?"

  He cradled the precious vial. "If I'm right about this, there will be nothing to talk about. There'll be no reason to keep popping Melphalan. I'd like you to be the first in my clinical trial."

  She wiped her eyes. "Come on Evan, it can't be that easy."

  "That's what I thought, too. But I think you'll agree that when it comes to genetics, I know what I'm talking about. I'm absolutely certain about this."

  She studied the vial again, this time more seriously. "But why me? There are so many other people more deserving...more sick."

  "I'm sure there are. And if we're right, maybe we can think about how to help them. But in order to do that, I need to make sure you'll be around to help make that happen."

  "So...if I agree to this, you mean I just shoot this stuff into my body?"

  "Yes."

  "That DNA was from a male. Will it turn me into a man?"

  They both laughed and it lifted some of the heaviness from the room.

  "I've already stripped out the gender-specific stuff," he assured her. "What you have here is a customized serum that will primarily target your bones, blood cells, and so on. With a perfect genome, we can mix this stuff all sorts of ways."

  "It's incredible," she muttered.

  He looked at the vial, then back at her.

  Time seemed suspended as she contemplated the dismal alternative of staying the course with chemotherapy. No doubt, even if she were to control this incurable thing raging in her bones, those treatments would eliminate any hope of having children. Best-case scenario, she might live another ten or fifteen years. She'd never even make it to fifty.

  "Well?"

  She smiled, knowing that she could trust him. She recalled the angel of death in St. Peter's, flipping the hourglass. "Okay."

  "Great." He was grinning ear to ear. "But just answer me one question. Who on earth was this guy?"

  Father Donovan had fed her the story that the skeleton was a hoax concocted by Joseph of Arimathea, intended to debunk Jesus as the promised Messiah. Now that theory seemed utterly ridiculous. Only a divine being could exhibit such a remarkable genetic profile.

  She walked over to the window and silently looked out over the lights of the airport. Then she turned to Aldrich, her eyes sad, and she smiled.

  69.

  VATICAN CITY

  St. Peter's Basilica had closed promptly at seven p.m. and the vast, dimmed interior was empty, except for one figure toting a black bag, striding hastily along the northern transept.

  Father Donovan moved to the front of the towering Baldacchino where a marble balustrade circled around a sunken grotto directly below the papal altar. Pausing to bless himself, he checked to make sure no one was watching, then opened the side gate and slipped through. He pulled the gate closed and crept down a semicircular staircase.

  One level beneath the basilica's main floor, an elaborate inlaid marble shrine glowed in the warm light of ninety-nine ornate oil lamps, burning perpetually in tribute to the most holy ground in all of Vatican City-- the Sepulcrum Sancti Petri Apostoli.

  St. Peter's tomb.

  Peter was the man who, according to Joseph of Arimathea, he had designated to handle two critical, final tasks to serve the Messiah: transferring the ten ossuaries from Rome to a new crypt beneath Temple Mount in Jerusalem, and delivering his precious manuscript-- the foundation for the Christian gospels-- to the Jewish zealots who had h
elped execute Jesus's ambitious plan to restore the temple.

  Donovan recalled Joseph's final passage in the Ephemeris Conlusio:

  On this night, the emperor Nero has made a banquet in his palace. I am to be his guest, and so too, my wife and children have been asked to sit with him. With much sadness, I have agreed, though I know his intent, for his heart is filled with evil. Those who celebrate the teachings of Jesus have refused to pay tribute to him. For this, many he has burned alive.

  For my loyal service to Rome, Nero has made known to me that my death and the deaths of my beloved family will be humane. The food we eat tonight will be poisoned.

  Rome is vast and there is no place he will not find us. The only protection we have comes from God. Our fate is his will.

  It has been agreed that our bodies will be given to my brother, Simon Peter, to be buried in my crypt beside Jesus. Once all have been freed from flesh, Peter will journey back to Jerusalem. Beneath the great temple will Jesus be interred, for this I promised to him before his execution. There too will we share in his glory on the Day of Atonement. Then will the temple be cleansed. Then shall God return to its holy Tabernacle.

  These writings I have asked Peter to deliver to our brothers, the Essenes. They will protect this testament to God and his son. They will tell all men that the Day of Judgment will soon be at hand.

  Once Peter had fulfilled his duties to the brotherhood, he had returned to Rome to continue preaching Jesus's teachings. Shortly thereafter, he was imprisoned by Nero and sentenced to death by being crucified upside down.