As I reflect on those days of fervency I recall being infused with what I considered righteous anger, a godly hatred of these opponents of the Scriptures. My team and I were merciless, swift, and brutal. Fear in the eyes of my prisoners or pleading on the parts of mothers to not separate them from their children had no effect on me.
I had been born for this, schooled and trained for this. I felt uniquely equipped for the task.
The entire council was aware of the many prisoners I had delivered, and many congratulated me. Only Gamaliel seemed to take issue with the effort. He asked to see me one day, and I was certain even he would reluctantly praise me. He admitted he was impressed by the efficiency of my venture, but he asked kindly, “Does the nature of the work ever give you pause? Does it never bother you?”
I could have easily made myself look better in his eyes by saying, “Of course, no one really enjoys having to confront people so forcefully.” But the fact was I did enjoy it. I was not a tyrant to gain power for its own sake. I was enforcing the will of God. What could be a higher calling?
I said, “Nasi Gamaliel, I feel alive, fulfilled, as if I am living life to the fullest, defending and glorifying the name of the Lord.”
He looked at me sadly and conceded, “If the high priest, or more accurately his father-in-law, wishes to drive these people from the City of David, they could not have chosen a better man for the job.”
I thanked him most sincerely. Naïvely—I realize now—I took his words as the highest personal compliment he had ever paid me. My goal was to do anything I could contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. I cast my votes for the many death sentences decreed in Israel and even in foreign cities.
Learning that many of the people of The Way had scattered into Judea and Samaria and spread their influence as far as Damascus, I went again to Caiaphas, breathing threats and murder against them. I asked for a letter of introduction to the synagogues of Damascus. “Any disciples of Jesus I find there, whether men or women, I will bring to Jerusalem in chains.”
This seemed to please the high priest. “Damascus is outside Roman law,” he said. “So you will encounter no restrictions.”
When he supplied me with the letters, I was thrilled to see they were signed by both him and Annas. With my band of enforcers, I traveled about 135 miles north of Jerusalem to the city that had so captured my attention as a child. Was this the culmination of that deep attraction? In those days I had been unable to imagine what possible role that city could play in my adult life. I was about to find out.
On horseback for the better part of four days, we traveled the way of the Sea of Galilee, crossing the Jordan River by bridge a few miles north of the Dead Sea. My excitement built as we neared Kaukab, about twelve miles south of the great walled city of Damascus. This was the stretch of road on which my father and I, heading south when I was thirteen, had encountered heat so fierce we wondered if we would be able to continue.
45
Bait
PRESENT-DAY ROME
MONDAY, MAY 12, 1:30 P.M.
Georgio Emmanuel returned to the secure room. He was laden with file folders, Roger Michaels’s nine millimeter, a bulging greasy sack, and two large paper cups.
“I have lost my appetite, Dr. Knox. But we are both going to need nourishment. There is much to do before eight o’clock.”
“Before eight o’clock?”
Emmanuel set everything on the table and opened the sack, handing Augie a heavy, meat-laden sandwich and a cup of espresso. He set his own meal in front of him, sat, and crossed himself before digging in.
“You’re a man of faith?” Augie said.
“With a name like Emmanuel, how could I escape?”
Augie breathed a prayer of thanks. With his first bite he realized how fear had camouflaged his hunger. “Very grateful for this, Colonel.”
“I owe you thanks too, Dr. Knox, but you understand you have given me both a lawman’s dream and his nightmare. All the clues I should have picked up on for months have fallen into place for me. Just now—as I was collecting the results of the investigations, conducting a poligrafo analysis of my recording of you, and finding a permit for your firearm— it struck me that I long ago placed my full trust in a colleague I apparently never really knew. It is as if a friend had died.”
“I’m sorry.”
Emmanuel took a huge bite of his sandwich and spoke around the bulge in his cheek. “Learning can be painful, but we must embrace the lessons.” He dragged a napkin across his mouth and gulped his coffee. “You, however, appear to be exactly who you say you are. Except for a couple of traffic tickets as a young man, the only blemish on your record would be illegal possession of a firearm in a foreign country. However, this permit now grants you permission to carry it here. Fortunately, Mr. Michaels had registered it.”
Hmm. His but not the one he left for me.
“You’re giving the pistol back to me?”
“You might need it.”
“I might?”
“This evening at eight.”
“You want me to go through with the meeting?”
Emmanuel slid a sheet across the table. “Dr. Knox, the recorder I used for our interview has what my technical people call estrema fedeltà—extreme fidelity. It analyzes every nuance of your voice, even your breathing, evaluating with amazing accuracy your veridicità versus inganno—truthfulness versus deception. You exhibited virtually no deceptiveness. The men you recorded, however, tested highly deceptive. They lied to you and to each other. Either would eliminate the other for a bigger portion of the spoils.”
“I guess that’s no surprise, sir.”
“Call me Georgio. And the surprise will be on them tonight.”
“I am not skilled in these things.”
The colonel offered a sad smile. “Coming here without counsel made that clear. But you will do fine. And Mr. Michaels and your fiancee can play important roles too.”
“If they show up.”
“I am as certain they will be there as you were that Mr. Trikoupis would come. He has already booked a flight.”
“But as I told you, neither of my friends has a phone. I can text Roger, but unless Sofia calls me ….”
“Perhaps you’ll be able get a few moments alone with them before the meeting.”
“Georgio, what if Mr. Sardinia sees me here?”
“He is hardly ever in the office, but, yes, we should go now.” Pulling a tiny walkie-talkie from his pocket, he said, “Ho bisogno di un auto con autista all’ingresso posteriore, per favore,” then turned back to Augie, explaining that he had just asked for a car and driver at the back entrance.
“Where are we going, sir?”
“Follow me.” Emmanuel led Augie down the back stairs. “It’s way past time to look at Klaudios’s message to Mr. Michaels. I don’t know who else on the planet could have avoided the temptation this long.”
They emerged into the afternoon sun, and Emmanuel whispered, “Do not mention Sardinia in front of the driver.” They sat in the back seat of the unmarked sedan, and Emmanuel introduced him to the operative behind the wheel. “Please tell him how to get to the bank.”
Augie did, but added quietly to Emmanuel, “I’m still not sure we should open another man’s mail.”
“I do not share your hesitation, Dr. Knox. My priority is to see that no one else dies because of what has caused all this, this, ah, loschi. I’m trying to think of the closest English word ….”
“Skullduggery,” the driver said.
“Yes!” Georgio said. “Dr. Knox, it’s time we take custody of the treasure. The world deserves the right to examine such an antiquity. And the document itself deserves the protection of the Republic of Italy. You understand that you could realize a significant reward if your efforts result in our regaining possession of the memoir.”
Augie chuckled. “Never considered that, but I wouldn’t turn it down.” How much could it be? Maybe he would be able to pay back his mother, or
put a dent in Rajiv Patel’s school bill, or even get Sofia’s diamond out of hock.
On the way, Emmanuel quizzed Augie about his hotel suite and took copious notes.
At the bank they were admitted to the vault, but when Augie slid out the large metal box he shot Emmanuel a look. “Feels too light,” he said, setting it on a table under a ceiling light. When he raised the lid the bottom of the box reflected his own image.
“I was told no one else had access to this,” Augie said, feeling his face flush. “I’m going to demand that the woman who rented me the box—.”
“Wait,” Georgio said, holding up a hand. “Slow down.”
“She has to answer for—.”
“Are you listening, my friend? Please, sit.”
Augie plopped into a wood chair.
“Dr. Knox, in my profession anger leads to haste, and haste is the enemy of logic. Think this through. We both know who was given access to this box. Now put it back in place and let me do my job.”
“The one place I was certain would be safe ….”
Emmanuel put a finger to his lips and led Augie into the lobby. “Who waited on you?”
“Tall, dark hair, red dress,” Augie whispered.
Georgio approached the woman with a smile, showing his badge. “Solo il controllo per assicurarsi che il mio popolo era dato accesso a ciò che avevano bisogno di.”
“Sì, Signore. I documenti erano in ordine e abbiamo accordato il vostro ufficiale completa cooperazione.”
“Mille Grazie.”
“All right, I’m confused,” Augie said as he followed Emmanuel out to the car.
“Just keep smiling,” the colonel said. “I told her I was just checking to make sure my people were given access to what they needed. She said yes, that my officer’s search warrant was in order, so she extended him every courtesy.”
“So that’s it?” Augie said as they climbed into the car. “Your guy steals my stuff and you smile and say thank you?”
“I merely confirmed what I suspected.Your problem now is not the missing items. We know who has those. The problem arises only if they lead him to the artifact. Then everyone else becomes unnecessary.”
“Roger, Sofia, and me.”
“Even Mr. Trikoupis.”
“Doesn’t Sardinia need him to market the parchments?”
“He needed him for instant cash. But if Sardinia has sole access to the merce, the merchandise, he can market it directly through the Tombaroli. That takes more time, but he no longer has to split the profits with anyone.”
“So tonight’s meeting is off.”
“Not necessarily. Our schema was going to be that you three had been persuaded—either by Trikoupis’s threats or by the promise of big payoffs—to lead them to the merchandise.”
“But now Sardinia has no need of us.”
“But every person he thinks could implicate him will be at that meeting.”
Augie cocked his head. “So once everybody’s there, he sends in someone to assassinate all of us.”
“And probably has the Tombaroli stage it to look like a murder-suicide, yes,” Emmanuel said. “Your friend Mr. Michaels has already been implicated in the other two killings. With Rome’s carabinieri closing in, Roger kills everyone, then himself, and the memoir remains hidden.”
“Until it starts showing up on the black market, in pieces.”
“Now you’re starting to think like a carabiniere.”
“But, Georgio, does that mean we’re going to the meeting tonight merely as bait?”
“Actually, yes, but let’s talk more back at headquarters.” Emmanuel used his walkie-talkie to speak to his assistant. When they got to the office and headed up the back staircase, he said, “Sardinia left word he is working in the field this evening and will not be back in the office until tomorrow. I asked my assistant to invite four colleagues to join me in the interrogation room at three o’clock and to be prepared to remain on duty until at least midnight.”
“Will four be enough?”
“No. Each has staff to direct.”
Emmanuel suddenly appeared older than his years, shoulders slumped, gait less steady.
“This going to be a tough meeting, Georgio?”
The colonel hesitated as someone delivered four folding chairs that, along with the table, left little space for anything else in the interrogation room. “I must tell these people the hard truth about someone they have admired and respected for years. Be prepared to play your recordings, so there will be no question.”
Augie sat while Emmanuel riffled through his notes. “I will be praying for you, Georgio.”
Emmanuel’s voice was raspy. “Thank you sinceramente. Molto significa”
The four Art Squad operatives seemed to arrive as one, three men in their middle to late thirties and a young woman who looked Sofia’s age. All wore sober, dark suits and expectant looks.
Emmanuel said, “Telefoni cellulari di largo per favore,” and they turned off their cell phones. “ Grazie per essere venuti”
One said, “Abbiamo una scelta?” and all laughed, even Emmanuel.
He turned to Augie. “I thanked them for coming and he asked if they had a choice.”
Augie struggled to understand the Italian as Emmanuel summarized the story. When Georgio mentioned Aldo Sardinia’s name in the same sentence with Klaudios Giordano and Dimos Fokinos omicidio, Augie read disbelief, then anger, on the agents’ faces. He knew his part of the meeting was coming when Emmanuel referred to prove incontrovertibili.
The recordings sealed Sardinia’s fate. As the agents scribbled in black leather notebooks, they could not hide their shock. A friend, a superior, had in an instant been revealed as the perpetrator of a crime that mocked their very department—Comando Carabinieri per la Tutela del Patrimonio Culturale, the first special police force in the world dedicated to combating art and antiquities crimes.
When Emmanuel finally dismissed the operatives, they filed past Augie, each saying some variation of “Grazie mille per il vostro aiuto.” Georgio told him they were thanking him for his assistance.
When it was just the two of them, Emmanuel said, “You won’t see any of us until you need to.” He looked at his watch. “Three and a half hours. Will you be hungry beforehand?”
“I couldn’t eat.”
“Me either, my friend,” Georgio said. “You ready to do your part?”
“Do we really have to be there? Can’t I just say we will be, and then you and your people arrest whoever Sardinia sends to kill us?”
“That’s the plan. We have to apprehend the hired gun before he gets to you, then make sure he tells Sardinia the job is done. We have to be very careful, because they’ll likely have a signal, one word to say all is well and another to say all is not well. Once Sardinia is convinced you all have been eliminated, he’ll relax and we’ll be able to arrest him easily. If he gets wind of a setup, he’ll disappear.”
“Georgio, I don’t like any of this. Roger and Sofia and I should have pretended to play along, dangling the Klaudios letter until Sardinia and Trikoupis incriminated themselves ….”
“But now Aldo has the contents of your deposit box, so we need to change to Plan B. Right now we are bugging your suite and setting up surveillance in the rooms on either side of yours—.”
“Those rooms are occupied.”
“They may have been. But those guests have been moved because of a suspected water leak. By the time you and Sofia and Roger get to your suite, we will have everything in place. You need to trust me, Dr. Knox. All of you will be safe. In any case, you are the theologian. I am just a layman. But I know the verse about laying aside every weight and sin and running with patience.”
“Hebrews 12,” Augie said. “One of my favorites: ‘… looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.’”
“Amen,” Emman
uel said, and for the second time since Augie met him, he crossed himself.
In the remaining time, Augie prayed for courage, for Sofia’s safety, and for Roger’s soul. All this would be worth it if Sardinia and Sofia’s father were brought to justice, and Roger came to faith.
46
Eternal Reversal
FIRST-CENTURY JUDEA
FROM PAUL’S MEMOIR
On our way to Damascus, my mind drifted back more than twenty years to the journey with my father when, coming the other way on this very same route, we felt we had been cast into a fiery furnace like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
My men and I covered a little more than thirty miles a day, and I enjoyed getting better acquainted with them. Some had looked upon me with suspicion at first. I overheard one tell another he’d never before been commanded by a “small, bookish man.”
But somehow I had won them over. Having a few days off from rousting infidels from their homes, we laughed and talked during stops for meals and lodging. Devout Jews, these men were not taken with strong drink or inappropriate revelry. Many were family men. Our fun consisted of wrestling and running races. I was no match for these younger men except that none could outrun me. They teased that speed was my best defense.
At our last rest stop before our scheduled arrival in Damascus, I sensed the men were impatient for action. They boasted among themselves about how vigorously they would represent Jerusalem and the council, should we find subversives in the temples at Damascus. In short, they were ready.
As we remounted I pointed into the distance where the road rose to a slight ridge. “Damascus will appear on the horizon as we clear that incline, but don’t be misled. It will seem we have nearly arrived, but the city is still almost half a day’s journey from there.” I turned to be sure everyone was astride his horse. “Let’s move out!”
I had caught the troops’ excitement and had to remind myself to slow my mount as the sun reached its apex. As we neared the crest, I called out, “Stay alert, gentlemen!” to be sure they were watching for the wall surrounding Damascus, the very one I climbed as a thirteen-year-old.
I, Saul Page 27
