As far as he could tell, these results substantiated that the ossuary’s etchings predated the formation of the patina. It was more than reasonable to conclude that the mysterious pagan symbol on the ossuary’s side did indeed date from the same time as the bones. There was a chance that if he could figure out what exactly it meant, it might help identify the crucified man.
27
******
Watching Giovanni Bersei at work on the other side of the lab, Charlotte picked up the cordless phone, dialed the number he had given her. The ring tone—so uniquely European—chimed endlessly. Just when she thought she needed to redial there was a response.
“Salve.”
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d expected a switchboard or assistant—perhaps even voice mail—and wondered if she’d accidentally dialed someone’s residence.
“Salve?” The voice was more insistent.
She eyed the note again where she’d jotted the phonetic spelling. “Signore Antonio Ciardini?”
“Si.”
“This is Dr. Charlotte Hennesey speaking. Giovanni Bersei suggested I contact you. I’m sorry—I didn’t know I’d be calling your home.”
“You’ve dialed my mobile. Quite all right.” There was a small pause. “You are American?”
His English was impressive. “I am.”
“What can I do for my good friend Giovanni?”
Everyone seemed to like Dr. Bersei. “He and I are working on a unique project here in Rome. In the Vatican, actually—”
“Vatican City?” Ciardini cut in.
“Yes. We’ve been asked to examine an ancient bone sample. And to be thorough in our analysis, we’d like to date the specimen.”
His voice went up a notch. “Bone specimens in the Vatican? That’s an odd pairing. Though there are those tombs beneath St. Peter’s Basilica where they bury the popes,” he tried thinking it through.
“Yes, well...” She couldn’t elaborate. “I hate to trouble you, but Dr. Bersei was wondering if you might be able to speed up the results.”
“For Giovanni, sure. The bone—is it in good condition? Clean?”
“It’s extremely well preserved.”
“Good. Then I suggest you send a sample of at least a gram.”
“Got that. And ...would this be all right?...there’s a wood splinter that we’d like to date as well.”
“Preferably ten milligrams for wood, though we can go as low as one milligram.”
“Ten is no problem. Is there some kind of form you’ll need me to fill out?”
“Just address the package directly to me with your name—that’s all. I’ll handle the paperwork. Indicate where you’d like the dating certificate sent.”
“That’s very kind. I know I’ve asked too much of you already, but Dr. Bersei was wondering if you could call us as soon as the results are available?”
“So that’s why he had you call, Dr. Hennesey.” Ciardini let loose with a big belly laugh. “I’ll process the samples as soon as they arrive. Normally it takes weeks to get results. But I’ll do my best to get them done within a couple of hours. I’ll give you the address.”
Ciardini repeated the street address slowly while Hennesey jotted it down.
“Thank you. I’ll send the Vatican courier. The samples will be with you in a couple of hours. Ciao.”
Returning the receiver to its wall-mounted cradle, she went back to the workstation.
Studying the skeleton, she finally settled on a splintered fragment from the left foot’s fractured metatarsal. With a pair of tweezers, Charlotte carefully broke away a small piece and sealed it in a plastic vial.
To determine its age, and thus the age of the skeleton, this sample would need to be incinerated. Then, the carbon gases could be collected, scrubbed, and compressed, in order to quantify any remaining carbon 14— the radioactive isotope in all organisms that, upon death, begins halving in quantity exactly every 5,730 years. Though the process seemed simple to her, she had learned that the complex array of equipment required for this test—known as an Accelerator Mass Spectrometer—demanded substantial investment and maintenance. Most museums and archaeological groups opted to outsource to independent specialist AMS labs like Ciardini’s.
From the drawer, she retrieved the wood splinter she had taken during the initial pathological analysis.
Placing the two specimens in a padded envelope, she prepared a second envelope with a Vatican City shipping label. Seeing the label’s embossed papal crest, she smiled inwardly feeling like an extra—or maybe a player— in a detective story. It all seemed a million miles from her daily routine back home. When she was analyzing samples at BMS, at the very least she knew their age and where they came from.
To thoroughly re-create the skeleton’s physical profile, Charlotte would also need to sample the skeleton’s deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. Contained within the core of all human cells, the ribbon-like nucleotide acids held the coding that determined every human physical attribute. She’d read studies suggesting that in the absence of harsh conditions and contamination, DNA could remain viable in ancient organisms. Scientists had studied it in Egyptian mummies almost 5,000 years old. Judging from the skeleton’s remarkable condition, she was confident that its DNA would not have degraded beyond the point of being able to study it.
Like carbon studies, genetic examinations required sophisticated equipment. And without doubt, Charlotte knew the fastest and most reliable facility for such testing was at BioMapping Solutions, under Evan Aldrich’s watchful eye. BMS had patented new systems and software to efficiently analyze the human genome using improved laser scanning techniques, and she’d been an integral contributor to the system’s technological development.
Glancing at her watch, she picked up the phone and dialed Phoenix. A quarter to five. Even with the eight-hour difference, she knew Evan was an inveterate early bird.
After three rings the phone was wrestled from its cradle. “Aldrich.”
That was the way he always answered: to the point. Another thing she loved about him. “Hey there. It’s the Rome field office calling in.”
Hearing her voice, he immediately sounded cheerful. “How are operations at Christianity Central?”
“Good. How are things back home?” She touched one of her earrings, remembering he had given them to her for her last birthday—emerald, her birthstone. He had told her they matched her eyes.
“Same old. So what’s shaking at the Vatican? Figuring out how to make the pope live forever?”
“It’s amazing. I’ve been analyzing ancient skeletal remains. Standard forensic stuff so far, but fascinating. I wish you could see this.”
“Back in the trenches then. Hope it’s worth our time.”
“Too early to tell. But it is extraordinary work. Anyway how often do you get a call from the Vatican?”
“True.” He paused. “I’m assuming you didn’t call just to chat.”
After her abrupt—make that icy—departure last Sunday, she knew he was referring to relationship issues. Evan had slept at her house the previous evening. A night of passion that led to an early morning discussion about “taking things to the next level.” Still not having told him about her cancer, she’d been quick to dodge the issue, much to his frustration. The limo had arrived in the thick of it all and she hadn’t left on the best of terms. Fixing things between them was important, but now was not the time. Luckily, Evan was still pretty good at separating work and pleasure.
“The specimen’s bones are in incredibly good shape and I was hoping to impress the locals with some DNA-mapping magic,” she explained. “I want to reconstruct the physical profile. Think BMS might be interested?” There was a brief pause that she knew was most likely disappointment.
After a long moment, he said, “Sounds like it would be good PR.”
“Is the new gene scanner ready?”
“We’re already in the beta testing stage. That’s why I’m in so early— I’ve been poring over
the data.”
“And?”
“It’s very promising. Get me your sample and I’ll run it through. It’ll be a good test.”
“I’ve got a whole skeleton here. What piece would you like?”
“Play it safe—something small like a tarsal. When can I expect it?”
“I’ll see if they’ll let me send it for overnight delivery. Hopefully I can get it to you by tomorrow.”
“It will be processed immediately. In fact, I’ll handle it personally.”
“Thanks, Evan.”
“Say hi to the pope for me. And Charlotte...”
Here it comes, she thought. “Yeah?”
“Just want to let you know it isn’t just my best scientist I miss around here.”
She smiled. “I miss you, too. Bye.”
Charlotte returned to the workstation, trying like hell to fight off a sudden surge of regret welling up inside her. She should have told him why she couldn’t be with him in that way—the way he wanted. Drawing a calming breath, she resigned herself to the fact that when she returned to Phoenix, she would tell him everything. Then they would need to figure out how to move forward. Lord knows she didn’t want to scare him away.
Back to work.
Bagging the metatarsal, she stuffed the sample into a DHL box. As she wrote BMS’s address on the shipping label, she tried to suppress a sudden bout of homesickness, realizing how far apart she was from Evan.
As she completed the form, Dr. Bersei joined her. He put his hands on his hips. “Far as I can tell, the patina wasn’t tampered with. It’s the real thing. You?”
“I had a nice conversation with Signore Ciardini,” she said, managing a smile. “Very charming man. He’ll have the results for us tomorrow.”
“What’s that package you’re working on?”
“Another sample I hope will provide a genetic profile for our man.” She held it up. “I’m sending it to Phoenix for analysis.”
“DNA?”
“Mm.”
Bersei glanced at his watch—just past five. “We got a lot done today. I’ve got to get home for dinner. My oldest daughter is stopping by tonight.”
“What’s Carmela making?”
“Chicken saltimbocca.” He raised his eyes and began stripping off his mask and gloves, then lab coat.
She laughed out loud and it felt good. “Good luck with that.”
“Watch out or I’ll bring you the leftovers,” he threatened. “Anyway, tomorrow maybe we can take a look inside the box, and I’ll see if I can’t decipher that symbol. I’ll also show you an instrument that will be a nice complement to your DNA analysis. See you in the morning—just hope my daughter doesn’t tempt me into a second bottle of wine.”
“You have a good evening, Giovanni. Thanks again for lunch.”
“You’re welcome. And try and get some sleep tonight, eh? I don’t want you getting sick on me.”
Too late for that, she thought. She smiled and waved.
“Ciao.”
As the door closed behind him, just for a moment, Charlotte Hennesey envied him.
When she finished preparing the packages, she buzzed the intercom for Father Donovan. He responded almost immediately, as if he knew she was still in the lab.
“Good evening, Dr. Hennesey. What can I do for you?”
She told him about the packages and he assured her that if she left them in the lab, he would have the courier handle both. She also confirmed with him that sending the overnight DHL package was okay, despite the hefty cost for overseas delivery.
Once the business issues were resolved, he asked her, “Are you going into Rome tonight?”
“It is a beautiful evening. I thought I’d take a walk and get dinner somewhere.”
“If you don’t mind splurging a bit, I could give you a recommendation for a superb restaurant.”
“Sure. That would be great. You know what they say—when in Rome...”
28
******
As Charlotte exited the Vatican Museum through the upstairs service door, the early evening sun was still warm. She’d decided that her khakis and blouse were good enough not to have to trail all the way back to her room to change. Besides, she had to adhere to the Vatican’s strict dress code or she wouldn’t be allowed back in. That didn’t leave many other wardrobe options.
She ambled along the walkway between the towering northern city wall and the Vatican Museum’s severe edifice and headed down to the Sant’ Anna Gate and was cleared by the Swiss Guards to leave the premises.
Father Donovan had indicated that the restaurant didn’t open until seventhirty. Unlike the States, Italians preferred to eat dinner late, he reminded her. With an hour to kill, Charlotte stayed close by, but enjoyed walking the side streets, venturing over to the Tiber River, taking in the richness that was Rome.
Awhile later, following Donovan’s directions, Charlotte zigzagged back to the imposing six-story facade of the Hotel Atlante Star. She saw the sign indicating the hotel’s Les Étoiles restaurant. Already she felt underdressed. Entering the foyer, she rode an elevator to the top floor.
As soon as the doors opened, she was greeted by the maître d’. He was a young man and elegantly dressed—perhaps in his mid-thirties she guessed—with dark features and thick black hair.
“ Signora Hennesey...Buona sera! Come sta?” He switched to English. “Father Donovan called ahead. I was expecting you.”
“Buona sera,” she said, peering into the restaurant.
“My name is Alfonso,” he bowed slightly. “Please follow me, Signora. You have a reserved table on the rooftop.”
She was guided through the dining room and up a staircase that led onto a terrace adorned with a sea of colorful flowers. Alfonso stopped in front of a small table by the railing.
Rome’s skyline left her momentarily breathless. The huge dome of St. Peter’s Basilica sat only a short distance away behind the eastern walls of the Vatican Museum. On the opposite side she spotted the curved edifice of Castel Sant’ Angelo. Across the Tiber lay the old city marked by the domed Pantheon.
Charlotte was helped into her chair. A white linen napkin was plucked from her plate and draped across her lap.
“If there is anything you need, Signora Hennesey, please don’t hesitate.”
“Grazie.”
A sommelier silently appeared and presented her with an intimidating leather-bound wine list.
Through all the activity, discovery, and suspense of the day, Charlotte realized that she’d barely had a moment to take stock. Suddenly she felt almost lonely. Or did she? Wasn’t everything perfect? She stared out across the river—she couldn’t have asked for a more idyllic setting.
But she knew everything wasn’t perfect.
The wine waiter was back at her side and she ordered a half bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. Alcohol wasn’t advised, but this evening she wasn’t going to deny herself.
The sound of scooters echoed up from the street below.
When the sommelier returned, he went about his wine presentation, showing the label, then opening the bottle and having Charlotte give it the sniff test. Finally, he poured some into a glass and asked her to taste it. She sloshed it around the glass, more for show, knowing that the medication she’d been taking would give the wine a slight metallic aftertaste no matter how refined its vintage.
When he left, her thoughts settled into their own direction, leading her back to Evan Aldrich. She reminded herself that making any long-term emotional commitment to him would be irresponsible. Yet, the doctors had told her that research was advancing all the time. Answers would soon be found. But how soon was soon?
And what about kids? At thirty-two she was already feeling the pressure that she might never have any of her own. Having researched later, more aggressive treatments that might include bortezomib injections—known to cause birth defects in unborn children—her anxiety had only deepened, knowing that might well be an unattainable dream.
&
nbsp; She cast her eyes idly over the neighboring tables. Happy-looking couples, a laughing family to her right. Maybe they weren’t happy at all. Appearances rarely told the whole truth—she knew that better than anyone. Oddly, it made her think about Salvatore Conte and Father Patrick Donovan. What was their story? How had a box of bones brought such a mismatched pair together?
She thought about the bone sample sent to Ciardini—how it would be incinerated during the carbon dating test to determine its age.
Bone being destroyed.
“Has Signora decided?” It was Alfonso.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need your help.”
Despite the fact that the restaurant had a name Charlotte swore was French, its menu featured Italian cuisine. After a few quick questions about her likes and dislikes, Alfonso steered her to a Sorrento scialatielli— “sumptuous homemade pasta with creamy Alfredo seafood sauce full of lobster and crab. Absolutely delightful.”
Sacred Bones : A Novel Page 14
