Augie sighed. “This is complicated enough, Sof.”
“We’ll be there tomorrow.”
Augie told her of his urgent concern for Roger’s soul.
“I’ll be praying,” Sofia said. “We just have to look for opportunities.”
“First we have to keep him alive.”
When Augie pulled to within sight of the train station the night sky was filled with flashing blue lights and the street was barricaded. He parked two blocks away and jogged to the barrier. “I need to get to my stuff,” he told a carabiniere. “It’s in a locker.”
The cop signaled to a colleague who hurried over. “English,” the first said.
The second turned to Augie. “Yes, sir.”
Augie repeated what he needed.
“Apologies, Mister. Bomb threat. Locker contents are being moved to this gymnasium.” He handed Augie a card with the address. “You can retrieve your belongings there tomorrow.”
“I don’t suppose the meatball sandwich place is open.”
The cop laughed and pointed down the street. “Try there. Just as good. Maybe better.”
On the way back, Augie called and filled Roger in.
“Oh, man,” Roger said. “Did you tell ‘em you need it now?”
“And make them suspicious? No.”
“If they open that envelope or the paper box or get curious about what’s so carefully wrapped ….”
After they devoured the food, Roger looked more discouraged than ever. “Goin’ to bed,” he said.
Exhausted as he was, Augie found himself too agitated to sleep. What if he were arrested the next afternoon? What would happen to Roger? He slipped out of bed and padded to the door of Roger’s room. Mustering his courage, he said, “Man, I’ve got to talk to you. You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out.”
Augie rehearsed their history and assured Roger he knew how he felt about the differences in their beliefs. “But I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you and I didn’t try one more time.”
Augie prayed silently as he spoke, asking God to give him the words to explain what it means to be a true believer in Christ. He quoted a lot of Scripture and finished, “I’m just hoping that Paul’s memoir will corroborate everything you’ve read in the Bible and that you share Paul’s heritage.You wouldn’t be the first skeptic who became a believer.”
When Roger didn’t respond, Augie said, “We can talk later. Just tell me I haven’t offended you. I sure haven’t meant to.”
Still nothing.
“Roger?”
But his friend was snoring.
SUNDAY, MAY 11, 11:00 A.M.
Augie received a text from Sofia that she and Dimos Fokinos had landed.
Roger said, “I gotta get out of here. But I’ll be back in time to camp out in the lobby behind a newspaper, and—.”
“Whoa, don’t forget you’re not as incognito as you were yesterday, François.”
“C’mon, I told you. They got my chin wrong. Plus I’m gonna go crazy sitting here all day. I want to see if Sofia recognizes me.”
“She won’t. I wouldn’t have, but take your tablet with you. And you know what to do if you think you’ve been made.”
“Been made? Talking like a spy already.”
“Just be prepared.”
“I speed-dial you, and when you see my number but hear nothing, you know I’m in trouble.”
“How secure are these new phones you keep trading?”
Roger shrugged. “Not very. I don’t use ‘em long.”
Eager as Augie was to see Sofia, he texted that she should let him know where they checked in and then come by the Terrazzo at three o’clock. “directly 2 r suite, look like u belong, draw no attention.”
12:55 P.M.
Augie drove to the address the police had given him and stood behind half a dozen people in a line outside. As soon as the door was unlocked, they all hurried in. Black plastic bags lay on folding tables, some bulging, some nearly flat. Locker numbers had been written on cards and taped to them.
Augie peeked at his key and headed for his bag, only to be intercepted by a uniformed carabiniere. “Identificazione e la chiave, per favore.”
“Sorry, chiave?”
“Parli Italiano, sir?” the cop said, nodding when Augie produced his blue passport. “Aah, English. Key. I need to see your locker key.”
As soon as Augie produced it, the carabiniere said, “I have been instructed to inform you that you will not be allowed to leave here with all your contents unless you show me more documentation.”
Augie froze. “And what documentation is that?”
“I think you know, sir.”
He wanted to be neither belligerent nor a pushover. “If I knew, Officer, I would not ask.”
The cop leafed through his passport. “You are an experienced traveler. You know you are required to have official clearance on your person for one specific item in your locker.”
Augie smiled and shrugged.
“What is your work?”
“I lead tours, mostly to holy sites.”
“And to which of these have you been allowed to carry a handgun?” “Oh! The nine millimeter! That is not mine. It belongs to a friend” “I will need the name.”
“Will I be getting him in trouble?”
“He will have to come himself to retrieve it. But I must tell you, its serial number does not show up on any local police database. Our constitution does not recognize the right of citizens to bear arms.”
“It doesn’t? Then I wouldn’t want to deliver it to him.”
“His name?”
“That isn’t necessary, is it? If I inform him it is unregistered, he would be wise to abandon it, wouldn’t he?”
The carabiniere hesitated, a look coming over him. “It is a nice gun, sir.”
Augie nodded. “How about I tell him he should just forget about it?”
“To keep himself out of trouble.”
“Precisely. And would you personally dispose of it for him?”
“As his representative, you are instructing me to do that?”
“Yes, Officer, I want you to take personal responsibility for it. As you say, it is a nice gun. And that way, it doesn’t have to be officially processed, does it?”
“Not if you are entrusting it to me.”
“I am.”
“Sign here.”
A multipart form listed the contents of his locker. “Oh, I don’t read much Italian either,” Augie said. “Do you mind?”
The cop read, “One large sealed envelope addressed to R.M., unmarked. One five-hundred-sheet paper box, full. One wrapped and protected photograph or document.”
Augie leaned in to peek at the form. “No mention of the, uh ….”
“The …?”
“The nine.”
“What nine? Is something missing, Dr. Knox? Something else you want listed on this official police form?”
“No, I think that covers it.”
The officer grabbed the bag and swung it into Augie’s arms, clearly without an inkling that the single page of parchment alone was worth millions of euros. “Be sure everything you just signed for is there.”
Augie peeked in at the three items, one drawing him like an undertow. He nodded and the officer walked away.
Augie started back to the hotel, driving as carefully as if he had been transporting cocaine. He tried to appear nonchalant as he strode through the lobby, reminding himself to slow down, maintain his composure. Only when the elevator doors slid shut did he realize he had forgotten to look for Roger lounging in the lobby.
2:20 P.M.
In his suite Augie hung a Do Not Disturb sign outside, applied the dead bolt, and attached the quaint chain. He rummaged for a clean pair of socks. They weren’t ideal, but they would have to do until he could find cloth gloves. He sat at the desk and gingerly emptied the bag, setting Klaudios’s envelope and the stationery box aside. He peeled the tape from the edges of the sheets prot
ecting the parchment, making sure he kept the entire package out of the sunlight streaming through the drapes.
Finally, before him lay a parchment page about eleven inches by fourteen, sandwiched between thin, custom-cut, acid-free sheets. Augie slid the socks over trembling hands, then lowered his head to where he could softly blow on the top leaf until it began to slide away and expose the parchment.
Augie held his breath and slowly nudged it with his awkwardly covered fingers until the entire page came into view. Oh, God, he prayed silently. Let this unspeakable privilege be real.
The page was written in Ancient Greek that appeared to be from the Hellenistic period. Earlier texts, and even some during the beginning of that period, were written both right to left and left to right, alternating every line so the writer barely had to lift his hand from the page. This one had been written right to left, and, as Roger had told him, the script was remarkably readable for being as old as he hoped.
He began reading, meticulously translating for himself as he went, careful not to touch the parchment even with a sock-covered hand.
I, Saul, begin the recitation of my most vivid memories by acknowledging an incident that has affected my entire life, even with all that came after it. And as you shall see, all that followed even I would deem the creation of a fanciful mind had I not myself lived it.
Augie sat back and exhaled heavily. Was he actually reading something written in the Apostle Paul’s own hand? It was almost more than he could bear. Was Paul referring to his dramatic conversion experience on the road to Damascus? Or something earlier? Augie couldn’t wait to find out.
2:55 P.M.
Augie stacked everything on the side table in his bedroom, setting the heavy ream of paper over the one original page.
He heard footsteps outside the door and moved close to listen. Sofia’s voice: [“Dimos, would you give me a minute to greet my fiancé?”]
He opened the door to her knock and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.
“My love,” he said.
Still entangled, Sofia said, “Let me introduce you to Dimos Fokinos, who works with my father. His English is pretty good.”
Fokinos, who had remained just out of sight, appeared. The men traded pleasantries, Augie telling him his reputation had preceded him. Sofia’s comment about his English proved an understatement. Though his speech was heavily accented, he clearly knew the language. He said, “Mr. Trikoupis tends to exaggerate.”
But he hadn’t. Dimos was everything the man had said: tall, slim, with longish, black, curly hair. He was dressed almost as stylishly as Sofia. Genteel, however, he was not. As he shook Augie’s hand he slipped past him and into the suite. “Come on in,” Augie said, the sarcasm plainly eluding Fokinos.
The Greek draped his jacket over the back of the couch, then sat. “We need to get down to business. Your man is all over the news and it won’t be long before he is in custody.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Augie said.
“You need to be very careful if you don’t want the same fate. Where is he, anyway?”
“You didn’t see him in the lobby?” Augie said.
“Had I seen him, I would know where he is, wouldn’t I?”
“His disguise is working, that’s all.”
“I saw no one in the lobby,” Sofia said. “It was empty except for staff.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Dimos said. “Your friend needs to stay out of sight, and we need to find the parchments.”
“We?” Augie said. “You’re a guest here, sir. And our priority is not the parchments. It’s our friend’s life.”
“Which is as good as over, so don’t play games, Dr. Knox. You’re talking about an artifact which, if I can verify its authenticity, is priceless.”
“ You’re going to authenticate it?”
“That’s why Mr. Trikoupis sent me.”
“Do you read Ancient Greek, Mr. Fokinos?”
“I thought that was your job. Mine is to evaluate the parchment itself. When can I see it?”
“All in good time. Right now I need to find Roger.”
Fokinos huffed and began pacing.
Augie texted, “where r u? they’re here.”
Dimos pulled on his jacket. “Are we going to sit around here all day?”
“Where do you propose we go?” Augie said. “I’m not leaving until I reconnect with Roger.”
“Make it fast. If you really care so much about his eternal soul you wouldn’t let him out of your sight.”
Augie shot Sofia a glance. She looked ashen. Was it guilt over revealing to Dimos her private conversation with Augie? Or had her phone been compromised?
28
Trouble
FIRST-CENTURY ROME
Though summer was almost over, the great capital city was as hot as it had been during the great fire. The sheer number of dehydrated government workers kept Luke from tending to the general populace, including many mothers and children. Well after the sun finally, mercifully, set, Luke had not had time to pick up his lamp and find something for Paul to eat. He prayed Panthera had been able to visit Paul and provide a little food and light.
But when Luke got to the prison, a young sandy-haired guard from inside patrolled the gate.
“Primus on break?” Luke said.
“No, Doctor. He’s being disciplined, and—.”
“What for?”
“—if the gods favor me, he’ll be discharged and I will get his post.”
What did he do?”
“Showed favoritism to a prisoner, and you know about whom I speak.”
“So he checked in on Paul. What was the harm in that?”
“Did you know he had been feeding the prisoner too?”
“A scrap now and then. What of it?”
“Worse, he was caught providing light. He may lose his position, sir. For now he has been suspended for a week without pay.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It’s policy, sir.”
“Then Paul has not eaten today—beyond the gruel, I mean?”
“Probably not.”
Luke hurried inside, surprised that even the guards manning the hole stood in virtual darkness. He could barely make out their forms in the dim light.
“Even your torches have been doused?” Luke said.
“Orders, Doctor,” one said. “They were sending light through the hole, and the prisoner’s sentence calls for complete darkness.”
“But for months he has had that little bit of light.”
“And none of us cared much, except Gaius.”
“Gaius?”
“You passed him at the gate. He grew tired of Primus enjoying the privileges of position while violating protocol and reported him. Our superiors have reminded us—strongly—to enforce the sentence as written.”
“Why don’t you just cover the hole? Why should you have to stand here in darkness?”
“A cover will be in place by tomorrow.”
“Must I visit my patient in darkness also?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“A travesty.” Luke stepped closer. “Does this mean I cannot bring a little extra food for him either?”
“You will find us looking the other way, if you are discreet. We have become fond of him. We know nothing of his guilt or innocence, but not one of us doubts his sincerity.”
“But I have no food this evening.”
“I would give you some of mine,” the guard said. “But we’ve just had our break and nothing is left.”
“I worry about Paul living through the night.”
“The outside guards do not break for another hour. Perhaps one would slip you something.”
Luke knelt over the hole and poked his head through. “Paul!”
“Luke!” came the raspy reply. “The darkness torments me! And I’m hungry! Come quickly.”
“Hold on, friend! I’ll be down soon.”
Luke
rushed out to the new gate guard. “May I call you Gaius?”
“That’s my name.”
“I need a bit of food for my friend. Some bread, cheese, anything.”
“I told you, he’s not allowed—.”
“Do you have a price?”
Gaius hesitated. “You wish to put me in the same predicament as Primus? What kind of a hypocrite would I be?”
“Who would report you?”
“None would dare!”
“Then a bit of food?”
Gaius looked around, then spoke softly. “If, as you say, the price was adequate. You must not let the other guards know where you got it.”
“I am prepared to do my part for the life of my friend.”
“You could not afford me.”
“Try me, Gaius. Surely you could use an extra coin or two.”
“It depends on what those coins were made of.”
“I need food only for tonight. I can bring my own from now on.”
“Selling you food is one thing. Ignoring you giving your own to the prisoner is another.”
“I’ve never had to pay for that.”
“You can’t tell me Primus was never accommodated.”
“Please. Your price.”
Gaius whispered an exorbitant amount, “which would pay for my ignorance for a month.”
Luke countered with half the price, “to cover this until his execution” Gaius surreptitiously shook Luke’s hand. “I have another proposition,” Luke said. “I’ll pay the full amount you asked for if you will not testify against Primus.”
“But I brought the charge! I will be the primary witness.”
Luke shrugged. “If you don’t want the money ….”
“I do! But how will that look?”
“Just say that you feel the suspension was adequate for the offense and that you are confident that such a good superior as Primus will not repeat it.”
“But then I will not be promoted to this post!”
“Would it pay that much more than I’m offering?”
“No. But it comes with privilege and honor.”
Luke wanted to ask what kind of honor was due a man so easily bought. “The decision is yours.”
I, Saul Page 17
