by Lynn Sholes
“I’m sure there would be no other way, Eminence,” Cotten said, shaking the cardinal’s hand.
Ianucci studied her—composed, self-assured, he thought. Still, he’d be delicate in his suggestions of how he would like to handle the situation. “Please, both of you sit and tell me what you have.” Returning to his chair, he nodded to John.
“Are you familiar with Dr. Gabriel Archer?” John asked.
“Oh, yes,” Ianucci said, tapping his finger on the desktop. “I read only this morning that his Turkish team had reported his death—heart attack, I believe.” The cardinal made the sign of the cross. “May he rest in the peace of the Lord.”
John continued. “Then you are aware of his excavation in Iraq?”
“I am. He accumulated an astonishing body of work throughout his career—the end must have been frustrating for him with his obsession with finding the Grail.”
“His frustration may have paid off,” John said. “Ms. Stone was with him when he died. I’ll let her tell you.”
One of the cardinal’s eyebrows arched and there was a quick flutter, like a bird’s wing inside his chest. “Please.”
She told her story, ending with how she sought John’s help in the opening of the puzzle cube and the discovery of the Cup inside.
The cardinal twirled his thumbs. “You say another man was killed in a struggle with Archer—an Arab?”
“Well, I assumed he was Arab. The clothes, appearance, and his accent,” Cotten said.
“Strange, the article didn’t mention anything other than Archer having a heart attack. Hmm.”
Cotten looked at John, but didn’t say anything.
Ianucci wondered what was on the reporter’s mind. He waited a moment before speaking again, giving her an opportunity to talk. When she failed to do so, he said, “Let us suppose the man who tried to steal the relic from Archer was only an antiquities thief.”
“If it weren’t for the break-in of my apartment, Eminence, I would agree,” Cotten said. “But there’s too much of a coincidence. That’s why I’m anxious to place it in the hands of an organization like yours that can assure its safety.”
“You brought the relic with you?”
“Yes.” Cotten opened her bag and produced the box.
Ianucci’s pulse quickened.
She handed it to John. With precise movements, he slid open the lid, letting it drop back on its hinges. He placed it carefully on the desk.
“Our old friends, the Templars,” Ianucci said, peering at the cross, the rose, and the seal woven into the cloth. Tiny beads of perspiration dampened his scalp beneath his red zucchetto.
“I had the same reaction, Eminence,” John said. John produced a pair of white gloves from his pocket. He gently removed and unwrapped the Cup, setting it beside the box.
Hairs on the back of Ianucci’s neck prickled, and a surge of nerve impulses raced down his arms. Gabriel Archer was no fool. If he believed this to be the Holy Grail, there was a strong likelihood that the Cup from the Last Supper sat only inches away.
Ianucci opened a desk drawer and retrieved his own pair of gloves. Slipping them on, he picked up the chalice and examined it—exploring the engraved monogram, the small band of beads, and the grapevines winding around the neck. The exhilaration was difficult to contain. He pointed to the dark substance coating the inside. “Beeswax?”
“I think so,” John said.
“An appropriate method of preservation for that time period.” The cardinal inspected the Cup from all angles, finally setting it down again. He leaned back and cocked his head, first to one side and then the other as he continued to study the relic. “The style and metalwork seem concurrent with others I’ve seen of that era. The engraving was probably much later.”
“Agreed,” John said.
“Radiocarbon dating the wax should be fairly straightforward.” The fluttering in his chest made him cough. He pressed his fingers to his carotid, checking the irregular beat, unable to take his eyes from the chalice. His heart regained its rhythm. “We have a number of vessels with which to do a side-by-side comparison.” Ianucci looked up. “All right. Let’s deliver it to our experts and see what they find.” He stood. “Where are you staying?”
“Nova Domus,” John said, coming to his feet.
Cotten rose and turned to John. “Is that all?”
“For today, Ms. Stone,” Ianucci answered.
“But SNN is ready to—”
The cardinal smiled, holding up his hand. “You must be patient.”
“Do you think it’s authentic? What’s your best guess?” she asked.
John gently took Cotten’s arm. “It has to go through a lengthy process—there won’t be any guessing.”
Cotten edged her arm away. “I realize that it will take time.” She turned to Ianucci. “Your Eminence, I took John’s advice and agreed to bring the relic here. But there are many other organizations qualified to authenticate it in return for guaranteeing me the exclusive.” She took a slight step forward toward the desk. “If I could have your word, the Cup is yours.”
The significance of the relic far outweighed who reported the story first, the cardinal reasoned. He would grant her a fleeting moment of fame. Then she would be on a plane fading into obscurity while he continued his journey toward his ultimate goal. The Grail story would give him additional notoriety, helping him gain prominence among his colleagues. A prominence that mattered the next time the College of Cardinals gathered in the Sistine Chapel in secret conclave and cast their ballots for the man who would become the next bishop of Rome, Holy Father, successor to Saint Peter, Vicar of Christ.
“You have made your point, Ms. Stone. I will alert you as soon as I have word. Until then, take time to enjoy the sights of Rome while our people perform their work. I am sure Father Tyler will be happy to act as your tour guide.” Cardinal Ianucci nodded, clearly dismissing them.
They thanked Ianucci and walked across the ancient wooden floor. As the echo of the fourteen-foot-high doors closed behind them, Ianucci moved to the window overlooking the palace courtyard, waiting until his pulse slowed. Only then did he allow himself to look back at the Cup on his desk.
* * *
At twilight, John and Cotten took the cardinal’s suggestion to take in some of Rome’s famous highlights.
As they walked, Cotten couldn’t help but rehash what Ianucci had said. “Someone got rid of the Arab’s body so there would be nothing suspicious,” she said, walking alongside John. “Don’t you see, it’s a cover-up? The cardinal said there was nothing in the news about the dead Arab—just Archer’s death due to a heart attack.”
“It is strange there was no mention of the Arab.”
“I’ll tell you what, when this story breaks, I’m leaving that part out. I don’t want them to come looking for me again.” Cotten glanced up and stopped dead. “Oh, my God.” The lights striking and splaying off the Coliseum’s travertine and stone gave it an overwhelming sense of grandeur.
“Amazing, isn’t it? It’s quite astounding at night,” John said as they approached the Coliseum.
Cotten’s eyes fixed on the structure that was the symbol throughout the world of the Eternal City—the emblem of Rome’s greatness. “I’ve seen pictures and movies, but—”
She waved her arms toward the Coliseum. “This is why. This is what kept tugging at me as I grew up in Kentucky. This is why I do what I do, John. There is so much to see. I want to see it all.” The timbre of her voice dropped. “And I don’t think I’ll ever see enough.” She turned in a circle, feeling as if she couldn’t take it all in. It wasn’t just the splendor, it was the whole package—the stunning beauty, the wonder of the structural design, the history. “I’m babbling,” she said. “Sorry. You talk. Tell me about the Romans, about the gladiators, the architecture. Were Christians really thrown to the lions, here
?”
“Debatable,” John answered.
She moved close to him. “Tell me everything. I want to hear all the details.”
“At one time it was the most beautiful amphitheater in the world. An ecclesiastical writer—Bede—once wrote that ‘while the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand, but when the Coliseum falls, Rome shall fall and when Rome falls, the world will end.’”
She sensed his eyes on her as she moved in front of him. She felt the tough outer shell she tried so hard to hide behind, crack, just enough that he was catching a glimpse of what lay inside. For some reason she no longer wanted to keep that armor intact. She was more fanciful and idyllic than she liked to admit, but with John she didn’t sense the need to hide that part of her. It was refreshing to be Cotten Stone, girl from Kentucky, vulnerable, sometimes childlike. Always being in control, being strong, pretending that she could handle anything, was exhausting. She enjoyed allowing the delicacy of being a woman come through, not having to be the hard-edged reporter. The last time she’d felt this free, this true to herself, was before her father died. Everything changed the day he killed himself. Cotten, a little girl with a name as soft as the clouds, turned to stone. How often she thought about the irony of it. Cotten Stone.
Suddenly, she faced John, grabbing his hands. “How could anyone see this and not be moved?”
Cotten looked down at their hands. “Oops—not appropriate. I keep forgetting.”
When she loosened her grip, John held on a moment. “It’s okay. There’s nothing inappropriate for two friends to show affection.”
Taking several steps backward, she bent at the waist, and laughed. “John, you know what would be a riot? It would be just my luck to fall in love with a priest. Fits my M.O. One more way to avoid rejection. I mean, look at my last debacle. Thornton Graham and I were lovers. Did you know that?”
“Not exactly.”
“He’s married and way out of my league. He couldn’t reject or hurt me because I couldn’t really have him in the first place. See what I mean?” She leaned her head back and glared at the sky. “Does that make sense?”
“You’re too hard on yourself—a beautiful, bright, resourceful woman. Look at what you’ve been through. Nothing short of extraordinary, from the Iraqi desert to the halls of the Vatican. Why on earth are you afraid someone might reject you?”
She laughed again, but tears huddled near her lower lashes. “You know just the right things to say. If you weren’t a . . . well, I’d hug you.”
John put his arms around her. “Priests hug people all the time,” he said. “Don’t ever let the things that happen in life make you lose the sense of who you really are and what you’re made of.”
How he eased her, she thought as John let go of her.
“You know you can apply that same advice to yourself.”
He slipped his hand inside the collar of his shirt and lifted a crucifix on a chain. “This belonged to my grandfather. It represents what’s important to me—serving God. It’s not that I have doubts; I just can’t find the right niche. What is it that God has planned for me?” He laughed softly. “Am I a shepherd or Indiana Jones? I know that He’ll show me the way. He’ll lead me to where I am to be.” He laughed again. “Sometimes I think He has a sense of humor and fetish for riddles.” John put the cross back inside his shirt.
“Maybe you just need to be patient. Like you said, He’ll show you the way. But do you really have to be a priest in order to serve God? I mean there’s got to be lots of ways ordinary people—” She stopped herself. “Well, you know better than I do.”
A lazy smile spread across his face.
She wondered if he was looking at her as she looked at him. How much, right now, in the glittering reflections of the Coliseum, in the tender fading twilight, in the soft breeze, in this perfect moment, she wanted to thread her arms through his—just to be held by someone who wanted nothing from her.
“What are you staring at?” John asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No, I’m sorry. This is such an incredible moment, and I’m so overwhelmed.”
She came to stand next to him, and John touched the small of her back to guide her on. She began to walk beside him, and then his hand was gone.
How solid John was in his faith, Cotten thought. She couldn’t imagine having so much trust in the idea that God would divinely move her along a path to her destiny. Like John’s hand against her back, God’s hand had fallen away from her early on. After all, God had better things to do. She’d scratched and clawed and dug her way to where she was. On her own. God had nothing to do with it.
the evening news
“And now, Close Up, our special segment on stories and events that significantly impact our lives.” Thornton Graham read from the teleprompter as he stood on the SNN weekend news set in front of a blue wall. Chroma-keyed electronically behind him was a stylistic composite graphic of the Vatican, the faces of Cotten Stone and Dr. Gabriel Archer, and various religious symbols including a simple chalice.
“As reported earlier in the newscast,” Thornton said, “the Vatican announced today the discovery of Christianity’s most sought-after relic—the mystical Holy Grail. In an SNN exclusive report, correspondent Cotten Stone not only brought you the story, but was at the heart of it. A few weeks ago, while returning from assignment in Baghdad, Stone found herself abandoned in the Iraqi desert. Seeking safe passage to the Turkish border, she stumbled across an excavation of an ancient tomb headed up by this man, noted archaeologist, Dr. Gabriel Archer.”
Archer’s face filled the graphic behind Thornton.
“Before Dr. Archer succumbed to a fatal heart attack, he gave Stone a box he had recovered from the tomb and asked her to keep it safe. After returning home, Stone sought out the help of noted historian, archaeologist, and Catholic priest, Dr. John Tyler, who was able to open the box.”
The graphic dissolved to a picture of John and Cotten standing beside the Pieta.
“Inside was this.”
Dissolve to a photo of the chalice.
“This Cup is now believed to be the one used by Jesus Christ at the Last Supper—the same one tradition says was used to collect His blood at the Crucifixion. Down through the centuries it has been known simply as the Holy Grail.”
Dissolve to Cotten and Cardinal Ianucci.
“Vatican Curator, Cardinal Antonio Ianucci, revealed during Stone’s report that the preliminary examination of the relic suggests it is authentic.”
The video changed to a full screen sound bite from the interview. Cotten sat opposite the cardinal in an ornate library deep inside the papal palace.
“We considered many factors,” Ianucci said, “including metalwork, the patina, craftsmanship, historical descriptions for comparison, and the radiocarbon dating of what we have now determined is beeswax—the protective layer coating the inside of the Cup.”
Close-up overhead shot looking inside of Cup.
“Do you think you would have been this certain if you had not obtained the additional artifact from Dr. Archer’s estate in England?” Cotten asked.
“The markings on that artifact—the plate Dr. Archer discovered in Jerusalem—added many of the missing pieces to the puzzle,” the cardinal said. “Again, that also has been examined and determined to be authentic. After deciphering its markings, we traced the Grail’s journey with great accuracy from its first owner, Joseph of Arimathea, who traveled with the Apostle Paul, all the way through its final resting place near the Assyrian ruins in Nineveh, Northern Iraq. Although there are breaks in the lineage, other documents from our archives filled in most of the gaps. The evidence is quite convincing.”
Cotten asked, “What are the Vatican’s plans for the relic?”
“It is truly a gift from God—a key piece of Christ’s life and our religious faith, and it belongs to the people. We intend
to make it available to view and venerate. It will be displayed on special holidays like Good Friday and eventually taken on tour.”
Back to Thornton.
“But perhaps the most astounding part of this story is not the Cup itself, but what may lie inside. In a surprising last-minute revelation, Cardinal Ianucci told Stone that by using the latest in solid matter, 3D imaging technology, a microscopic layer of residue was discovered beneath the protective beeswax, residue that some have already speculated could be actual traces of Christ’s blood. As expected, this startling announcement has sent shockwaves through the worldwide Christian community generating discussion and debate.”
Thornton turned to a headshot camera.
“So, with all the news of war and unrest across the globe filling our headlines each day, it’s nice to bring you a story that has a happy ending—one that bolsters the faith of Christians everywhere and offers all of us something to ponder as we go about our lives. I’d like to end by saying that we at SNN are proud of Cotten Stone and her work to bring this important story to you. She’s just one more reason you can always trust the Satellite News Network for the news that makes the difference.”
Full shot of Thornton with Close Up segment logo behind him.
“If you’d like more information on the Holy Grail, its history, and recent discovery, log onto our website at satellitenews-dot-org, and join us each night for the SNN Evening News. I’m Thornton Graham. See you next time.”
“Yes!” Cotten screamed, jumping into the air, her arms thrust over her head. The monitors went black as the taped replay of the newscast ended.
Applause erupted throughout the conference room packed with SNN staff. Shouts of congratulations and excitement filled the air.
“Good job,” Ted Casselman said, standing next to Cotten.
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Ted.” Then she turned to Thornton who had also been standing beside her while the tape played. “And thank you, Thornton.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before stepping back.
“You did a great job, kid,” he said. “We’re all glad you’re home safe and sound.”
