by John Lyman
Leo’s curiosity became aroused. “What does he know, Arnolfo?”
“He knows what kind of clothes you will need. He owns a sporting goods store, Father.”
Leo turned crimson as Arnolfo burst out laughing.
“Nice,” Leo said, smiling to himself at how Arnolfo had led him into that trap. “I’ll have to think of a way to match you for that one my friend.”
“I have no doubt, Father. I will be on the lookout for it.”
Both men continued to chuckle as Leo walked out of the lobby into the bright Roman sunshine. The day was brilliantly clear, not at all like the rainy day before when he had arrived. He walked along the narrow streets before finding the sporting goods store sandwiched between a small, family-run bookstore, and a butcher shop with little strings of sausages and plucked poultry strung overhead in the window.
There was no hint of a mall or chain store here, although in truth, Rome had been home to the first shopping mall in history. Leo remembered the first time he had seen it. Named after its creator, Trajan’s Markets was built in the second century AD by Emperor Trajan and his architect, Apollodorus of Damascus. Together they had built a visionary multistory complex of one hundred and fifty shops, the ancient Roman equivalent of a modern shopping mall. Everything an ancient Roman might want could be found there. The shops sold everything from silks and spices imported from the Middle East to fresh fruit, fish, and flowers. Considered among the wonders of the Classical world, this archeological treasure remains standing today in the Forum area of Rome.
Leo thought back to when America had been a country of small shopkeepers, and the change he had seen over the span of a single generation was not pleasant in his mind. The Italians had their small stores and neighborhoods, with extended generational families kept intact in the same town or village, while America’s families had undergone an enormous change in the moral and corporate explosion that now forced them to endure a commercial landscape run by powerful conglomerates.
The unique charm that had once marked the boundaries of different cultural regions throughout America was being erased, and almost every city and town across the country now resembled every other city and town from one coast to the other. Due to corporate greed, huge box stores covered the land with no respect for individual communities, forcing small family-run businesses to fail and dispersing young people to seek work hundreds or thousands of miles away from their parents and grandparents.
The change had left a barren expanse of sameness and apathy across the nation. The distancing from past values, coupled with dwindling opportunity for working men and women spurred by globalization, unaffordable college tuition, and the widening gap between the very rich and everyone else, was creating a violent underclass that was spreading like a virus across a land previously occupied by a mostly peaceful and moral populace.
Who or what had ushered in this new age was a subject of much debate at the university where Leo taught. He had formed a theory that the Great Depression had so victimized our “greatest generation” that they had unwittingly sowed the seeds for a selfish, winner-take-all postwar grab for material wealth. Their efforts to raise themselves out of poverty and give their children a better life had changed the very core values of an America they had worked so hard to create and left the generations that followed without a unifying sense of community.
In the wake of the country’s newfound wealth, a religion of consumerism had spurred a mindless pursuit for greater corporate profits. This greed-fueled race eventually led to companies sending millions of manufacturing jobs overseas, resulting in the decline of the cherished middle class who made their living making things. For the first time, America’s children were looking at a lower standard of living than their parents. Corporate profit and material possessions were the new idolatry, shoving God’s message of ‘love thy neighbor’ into a dusty corner.
Many of Leo’s fellow professors had begun to agree with him that Europe was also evolving toward the corporate model of profit at any cost. At least their governments provided free healthcare, but in the new Europe, religion was beginning to fade into the background as its small countries relinquished their individual identities and morphed into a giant union more intent on worshiping the Euro.
In America, Leo was seeing the Catholic Church and other religious denominations beginning to wither on the vine in the new culture of every man for himself. He had shocked other priests when he told them that, if it weren’t for the evangelicals and nondenominational mega churches springing up over the land in response to what was happening to individuals and families across the country, he could see organized religion dying out completely over time. Leo knew that, someday soon, something big would have to happen to push the Church and God’s message of love back into the forefront of people’s minds before it was too late.
Father Leo opened the door to the small store and was greeted by a frail man with an innocent smile on his face. “Buon giorno, Father. How can I help you today?”
“Buon giorno, signor. I’m looking for some work clothes, maybe some jeans and a cotton shirt. Also, some boots, waterproof if you have them.”
“Yes, Father, we have all of that. Arnolfo called me a few moments ago. We have a special discount for priests, especially priests who are friends of Arnolfo.” The man began scurrying about the store, excitedly gathering up items for Leo to choose from. “Are you working in one of the Vatican gardens this beautiful day?”
Father Leo looked across the aged wooden counter at the animated shopkeeper. “I have a feeling I’ll be doing a lot of digging today, signor.” He tried on some boots and strolled the aisles, picking out a few more things before walking to the front and pulling a credit card from his wallet.
“I’m sorry, but we take only cash, Father.”
“Do you take American money or only lire, signor?”
The store owner looked at Leo as if he had just stepped out of a time machine. “We’re part of the European Union now. We take Euros.” Leo peered into his empty wallet.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had time to get any cash yet.”
“Don’t worry, Father. Take the receipt and give the cash to Arnolfo when you have it. He will see to it that I get the money.”
Leo felt his face flush and thanked the man. These people were so trusting, but he was a priest after all, and that counted for something, especially here in Italy.
Leo stepped out into the sunshine with a bundle of clothes under his arm wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. He followed an alley-like street back to his hotel, wishing he could just keep walking around the city all day. Maybe he would rent a small motor scooter while he was in Rome. Morelli’s words on the subject echoed in his mind. “You wouldn’t last a day in Rome’s traffic on one of those!” Still, Leo had a fatalistic way of looking at things and was considering it anyway. It was a beautiful day, and Morelli’s freewheeling lifestyle was beginning to rub off on him.
Within an hour, Leo had changed clothes at his hotel and had joined Morelli and John at the Basilica. After all the trouble he had gone through to buy more suitable clothes for exploring underground, Leo noticed that, except for his hiking boots, Morelli was still wearing his priestly garb.
“I thought we would be digging around in the dirt,” Leo said. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Morelli tugged at his stiff white collar. “I need to be dressed like this to avoid suspicion when we pass through certain areas of the Vatican. Don’t worry, Father; you’ll get your chance to get those new clothes dirty today.”
As they passed through the doors and approached the altar, Morelli stopped for a moment. “You know, Leo, I’m always amazed whenever I stand here and look at that altar. I can’t help but think back on what Jesus said when he spoke about Peter. He said, ‘Upon this rock I will build my church’. Of course, Jesus wasn’t talking about a building, but the man, Peter himself. Jesus wanted His chief disciple to carry on with His ministry, and I think it’s more than just coinciden
ce that Peter’s bones are now encased just below the altar in a church that bears his name.”
“I have to agree, Anthony. I’ve always thought there had to be a greater power at work here when you consider the fact that Peter’s remains lay undiscovered for almost two thousand years until they found him buried under this very church.”
“Did you know the expedition that discovered his bones was led by an old friend and mentor of mine?” Morelli said. “His name was Father Gilberto Bianchi, a Jesuit archaeologist who was in charge of the digging at the time. You met him once, Leo. He was one hundred years old when he died last year.”
Leo remembered him. He had seemed more like a grizzled old caretaker than a priest. Morelli, however, had practically worshiped the man. Bianchi had not only introduced him to the area under the Vatican, but had tutored him for years in the fine art of biblical archaeology.
The three men continued to stare at the altar until Morelli finally motioned them forward. Leo and John followed behind until they angled off to the right and stopped in front of one of the four main pillars supporting Michelangelo’s dome. Morelli then circled the pillar until he came to a small stairway that led below to a darkened bronze door.
“Beyond that door at the bottom of the stairs is the Vatican grotto, a huge crypt where the remains of many of the Catholic Church’s royalty are located, including ninety-one popes.”
“Are we allowed down there?” Leo asked.
“Yes, the main area is open to everyone. They have daily tours for the public, but they use a different entrance.”
The trio descended the stairs and Morelli opened the door to reveal the grotto. Leo was surprised. He had imagined a dark, cave-like area, but instead, subdued lighting highlighted tall stucco arches that met a curved, white ceiling. Long hallways branched out from the area under the altar, where niches carved into the walls contained sarcophagus-like tombs of popes and others who would spend eternity beneath the largest church in the world.
Walking through the sanctified space, the men arrived at the entrance to a long hallway trailing off to their right. Morelli looked around to see if anyone was watching and stepped over a chain with a “do not enter” sign attached. Scanning the area once more, he gestured for the other two men to follow. Leo looked around nervously before jumping over the chain behind John and following Morelli down the unlit hallway to its end, where they encountered a thick wooden door with medieval-looking metal hinges.
Leo stared at the door. “What’s behind there?”
“Another crypt, one not open to the public,” Morelli answered.
The door was locked, as they all knew it would be. John looked around before reaching inside his robe and producing a small crowbar.
Leo was horrified. “You can’t be serious. A crowbar? You’re actually thinking of breaking into a locked area of the Vatican with a crowbar?”
Morelli chuckled to himself as he pulled a key from his pocket. “Of course not. That’s for later.” John grinned at Leo who was still staring in disbelief at the crowbar. Morelli unlocked the door, and the three stepped into the second crypt, closing the door behind them.
Morelli studied their surroundings. “It’s down here to the right.”
“Just what are we looking for, Anthony?” Leo asked.
“The tomb of a Swedish queen who converted to Catholicism over two hundred years ago. Lev called me from Israel this morning after we left the café and told me that he found her name encoded in the Bible. According to the code, the seal is beneath her tomb.”
Leo was incredulous. “How can we possibly look beneath her tomb?”
“These tombs are really stone caskets similar to Egyptian sarcophagi, but luckily for us, they are much smaller and lighter. We only need to move one away from the wall to see the floor underneath.”
Leo marveled at the sight of so many popes in their stone vaults lining the walls. “I never imagined this place was so extensive.”
“Even people who have worked in the Vatican their entire lives have never seen this area. This crypt is open only to cardinals and researchers with special permission. I happen to be a researcher with special permission, hence the key.”
“I wasn’t even going to ask you about the key. I’m just thankful we aren’t all going to jail.”
“Well, I’m not going to jail, but you and John don’t have special permission. I’ve heard the food in Italian jails is excellent though.”
Before Leo had a chance to respond or bolt for the door, they reached the tomb Father Morelli was looking for. John sprang into action and placed the flat end of the crowbar between the wall and the stone tomb. He then began to inch it away from the wall, and with the help of the other two, the tomb began to move, slowly revealing the floor beneath.
“Careful you don’t chip the marble, John,” Morelli warned. He was starting to feel some guilt at disturbing the final resting place of a queen.
“I’ll do my best, Father. This thing is heavier than it looks.”
After about twenty minutes of slow work, the heavy marble tomb was far enough away from the wall to observe the surface of the floor that had been covered for over two hundred years.
“No seal,” breathed John, wiping the sweat from his face.
All three men stared at the blank floor.
“Maybe the seal is on the bottom of the tomb, Anthony,” Leo ventured.
“It’s possible, but we can’t just turn this thing on its side.” Morelli had visions of the tomb breaking open and a two-hundred-year-old queen rolling out onto the floor.
Leo studied the tomb and floor around it. “Maybe we can get a block of wood or something to use as a pivot point and pry an edge up enough to shine a light underneath. That way we can visualize the bottom.”
John emptied the contents of his backpack on the floor and let out a sigh. “I forgot to bring a flashlight.”
Leo proudly withdrew the small flashlight he had purchased that morning at the sporting goods store.
Morelli looked surprised. “Well done, my friend. I forgot you once worked in a mine.”
John was grinning from ear to ear. “Now, where are you going to find a block of wood, MacGyver?”
Laughing out loud at the MacGyver remark, Leo looked around. “There are two other types of people who have permission to be down here: janitors and maintenance people.” Leo headed off down the line of tombs until he came to a small door. He turned the knob, and the unlocked door opened easily. It was a janitor’s closet. Inspecting the contents inside, he found a large push broom with a thick wooden head. He unscrewed it from the handle and returned to the tomb.
“This should work.”
Morelli winked at John. “Now you know why I like this man so much. He possesses a very practical mind.”
Using the wooden broom head as a pivot point, Anthony and John placed all their weight on the opposite end of the crowbar, slowly lifting the edge of the tomb six inches off the floor. Leo then placed his head on the floor and peered underneath with the flashlight.
“Do you see anything?” Morelli grunted.
“Not that I can tell. I’m pretty sure there’s no seal here.”
“Are you sure? Not even a mark? Something?”
“Nothing,” Leo replied. “The bottom is smooth polished marble, just like the top. There’s nothing here.”
Morelli and John strained as they lowered the tomb and sat on the floor. Their breathing was labored and their clothes were beginning to stick to them.
Now what?
Leo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to try Italian jailhouse cuisine. Let’s move this thing back against the wall and get out of here.”
Morelli barely hid his disappointment as the three men moved the tomb back into position against the wall. They were just starting for the exit when they heard voices echoing in the distance.
“Are you sure you saw them come down here?” It was the voice of Cardinal Lundahl
.
“Yes, Your Eminence,” a different voice said.
The three men froze, not knowing what to do next.
“Quick,” Leo whispered. “Into the janitor’s closet.”
The group raced down the hall and crowded into the cramped space. They had just managed to squeeze the door closed when Cardinal Lundahl rounded the corner with Emilio in tow.
Lundahl sounded irritated. “There’s no one here.”
“Maybe they left when I went to call you, Eminence.”
“What do you think they were doing?”
“I don’t know, sir. Father Morelli has a key and official permission to enter this area, but the two with him do not.”
“I’ll talk to him later today and find out exactly what he’s up to. Leave a message for him at his residence and say that I would like to speak with him immediately.”
The cardinal and his assistant continued to walk throughout the area, checking each tomb for signs of tampering, while the trio in the closet held their breath, praying they would not be discovered. After several tense minutes, all was quiet. They waited another few minutes, then opened the door slightly and peaked out into the crypt. No one was there. They slowly moved toward the exit and stopped.
Leo looked around at the walls and up toward the ceiling. “How did they know we were down here, Anthony?”
“They probably have hidden security cameras,” John said.
“They do,” Morelli answered, “but even in the areas without cameras, they always seem to know what I’m doing at any moment of the day.” Morelli was growing impatient. “Anyway, I think they’ve gone. Open the door, and let’s go before security shows up.”
Passing through the medieval doorway into the grotto, the three made it to the end of the narrow hall where it joined the public area of the crypt. A hushed group of T-shirted and wide-eyed tourists wearing de rigueur baseball caps filed by on the grotto tour, seemingly oblivious to the three men standing in a darkened hall behind a security chain.
Morelli waited until the large group had passed and winked at Leo and John. “Care to join the tour?” The trio peered around the corner before they jumped across the chain and joined the camera-encrusted tourists, blending in with the crowd until they exited into the sunshine above.
