“Did you tell him what we discovered?”
Razak shook his head and held a finger to his lips, pointing toward Akbar. He drew Barton by the arm toward the rear of the chamber. “I don’t think he’s ready for that just yet,” he whispered. Last night, Razak had barely slept, trying to figure out who’d sent the sniper. He could only guess that the Shin Bet was looking to tie up some loose ends. Now, there was a good chance that he and Barton might share Taheem’s fate if they didn’t move quickly to find answers. “Remember what we discussed—you mustn’t tell anyone what we heard or what happened yesterday. We don’t know what the consequences could be.”
Barton nodded.
Razak let go of his arm. “So what brings us back here?”
The archaeologist collected his thoughts. “As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve given the concept of a crypt considerable thought. There are certain facts that simply don’t add up.” Barton moved to the center of the room, his eyes roving the walls. “I have been thinking about Joseph of Arimathea— his status, power, and money. I’m troubled that this crypt lacks many of the features I’d have expected to see in the tomb of a wealthy family.”
“Such as?”
“Refinement, for one. There’s nothing here to suggest position or wealth. It’s just an ordinary stone chamber—no ornate carvings, no pilasters, frescos, or mosaics. Nothing.”
Razak inclined his head, trying to remain patient. To a Muslim it wasn’t striking. “Perhaps this Joseph was a man of humility?”
“Maybe. But remember how I explained to you that the body was allowed to decompose for twelve months before being placed in the ossuary?”
Razak nodded. “Hard to forget. But I hope there’s a point to all this.”
“Believe me. In ancient Jewish crypts, you’d expect to see at least one small niche called a loculus—a small tunnel about two meters deep.” He envisioned the tomb Father Demetrios had indicated in the bedrock beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. “Where the body would have been laid out.”
Razak eyed the walls. “I don’t see one.”
“Precisely,” Barton agreed, striking a finger into the air. “Which made me wonder about this crypt’s design. With ten ossuaries, many trips in and out of here would have been required. At the very least there would have been one visit to place the body here after each family member’s death, another to practice the sacred rituals of the tahara, and then a final trip to transfer the expiated bones to the ossuary. That’s a minimum of three visits per body.”
“Okay.”
“And when I studied these remains the other day,” Barton motioned to the ossuaries, “I had a feeling that this family all died at once.”
Razak’s brow furrowed. “How could you tell?”
“Granted, I’m not an expert when it comes to forensic anthropology. But these remaining skeletons seem like they came out of a family photo.” He eyed the nine ossuaries. “The age gaps show a very normal progression with no apparent overlap—an old father, a slightly younger mother, and none of the children making it past their late twenties. One would expect a large family to decease in a more random pattern where at least some of the children reach their later years.”
“That is odd.”
“Furthermore,” Barton’s eyes canvassed the space, “do you see any sign of an entrance?”
Razak scanned the solid earth surrounding him on all but one side. “Looks like the only way in and out was that opening covered by the brick wall.” He pointed to the blast hole.
Barton nodded. “Exactly. And look at this.” Moving toward the blast hole, he motioned for Razak to follow. “See?” Barton spread his hands, indicating the depth of the wall. “This wall’s about half a meter thick. But look here. See how these bricks”—he tapped the side facing them—“are the same style as those bricks?” He tapped the other side of the wall facing into the mosque. Then he pointed out into the cavernous, arched room and Razak’s eyes followed. “And it’s the same brick that was used to construct this entire room. Coincidence? Perhaps not.”
Razak was getting it. “Wait a second.” He moved in closer, bending at the waist. His head circled all the way around the inner circumference of the blast hole. Sure enough, the walls had a purposeful design to them. “You’re saying both sides of the wall were erected at the same time?”
“Absolutely. Sealed away from that room,” he said, pointing out into the Marwani Mosque again, “during its initial construction. Look at the opening that led into this chamber before the wall was erected.” Barton paced back and spread his hands to emphasize the width where carved bedrock transformed to brick.
Razak moved back to see what the Englishman was implying. Turning toward the blast hole again, he studied the space that the brick wall had filled. Certainly it was wide, but no larger than twice the width of an average doorway. “What do you think this means?”
“It strongly suggests that our thieves weren’t the first intruders here. It seems clear to me that this room wasn’t designed to be a crypt.”
The Muslim stared at him blankly.
“This room is a vault specifically built for concealment and security,” Barton explained. “Somehow it was built in conjunction with Solomon’s Stables. And I think I know who was responsible.” In his mind’s eye, he saw the graffiti that hovered in the bedrock over Father Demetrios’s stout form—the image that helped him postulate this new theory.
Razak thought it through, mulling over the history that he knew about this place. One thing that clearly stuck out in his thoughts was the notion that the area now converted into the Marwani Mosque was supposedly used as a horse stable centuries earlier. And supposedly, it was built by... Suddenly his face slackened. “The Knights Templar?”
Barton smiled and shook his head knowingly. “Correct! It’s a long shot, but most archaeologists credit them with constructing Solomon’s Stables. How familiar are you with Templar history?”
Clearly not thrilled that the archaeologist was venturing into history again, Razak told him what he knew from his surprisingly extensive reading around the subject. After all, he thought, to understand the modern struggle between East and West, one must open a history book.
The Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon had been founded in 1118 CE, after the first Christian crusade. The Knights Templar were an order of militant, monastic mercenaries commissioned by the papacy to protect the reclaimed kingdom of Jerusalem from neighboring Muslim tribes, ensuring safe passage for European pilgrims. They were notorious, feared for their lethal tactics and their fanatical oath to never retreat from the battlefield and fight to the death in the name of Jesus Christ. The Templars had remained in control of the Temple Mount until slaughtered by a Muslim force led by Saladin at the Battle of Hattin in the twelfth century. They’d even used the Dome of the Rock Mosque as their headquarters, giving it the Latin name Templum Domini, or “Temple of the Lord.”
Barton was impressed by Razak’s knowledge and said so. Not many Jews, or even Christians for that matter, could readily display such command of the finer points of history. “These ossuaries were transferred here from another site where the proper rituals would have initially taken place. If we go with the theory that this is a vault,” Barton continued, “it would suggest the Templar Knights might have constructed it to protect the ossuaries.”
“Or treasure.” Razak responded swiftly, spreading his hands. “Let’s not forget that possibility.” He wasn’t thrilled about the archaeologist’s determination to link the theft to a revered prophet’s remains. “After all, weren’t they very rich? Looting Muslim mosques and homes, bribing public officials...”
“True, the Templars amassed a fortune, mostly plundered from conquered enemies. The papacy even allowed them to levy taxes and collect tithes. Eventually, they became bankers. The Templars were the medieval equivalent of...say...American Express. You see, prior to embarking on their journey to the Holy Land, European pilgrims would deposit money with a loca
l Templar lodge where they’d be given an encrypted depository note. Upon their arrival here in Jerusalem, they’d exchange the note for local currency.”
“Then how can you be so sure this vault didn’t contain their loot?”
“We’ll never know for sure,” Barton admitted. “But it seems highly unlikely they’d seal away assets so permanently knowing they’d need it for such frequent transactions.”
“Not good for liquidity,” Razak agreed, “But it would ensure safety for assets not needed in the short term.”
“Touché,” Barton admitted. “However, those etchings on the rear wall don’t make reference to anything else. Just the names of those whose remains are in these boxes.” He ambled over to the ossuaries again, scrutinizing them, searching for an explanation. “If these were transferred here to be locked away, then where were they originally found?” he muttered quietly, thinking aloud.
“I’m still confused.” Razak spread his hands. “How could a secret vault have been excavated beneath such a public place?”
“I’ve given that a lot of thought and this is where it all gets interesting.” Barton looked at him closely. “In the first century, the House of the Sanhedrin—where the Jewish authorities congregated and held trials—was located directly above Solomon’s Stables. And back then the platform beneath it was rumored to be honeycombed with secret passageways.” Many leading to the temple’s inner sanctum, he thought. “As a member of the Council, Joseph would have had access to those areas and stairs leading directly to the vaulted chambers beneath the platform, allowing him to construct the vault in complete secrecy.”
“This Joseph of Arimathea. I’m assuming he was from somewhere called Arimathea—correct?”
Barton nodded. “That’s what the scriptures imply.”
“Then perhaps the original crypt was in Joseph’s own land, where his family lived?”
“Perhaps,” Barton replied unenthusiastically. But it made him think: could the real tomb really have been beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre? It didn’t seem possible since the basilica had been there long before the Crusaders arrived. “The problem is that no one knows what place Arimathea really referred to. Some think it was a Judean hill town. But that’s all conjecture.”
“Assuming you’re on the right track, how do you suppose the thieves found this place?” Visualizing Taheem’s horrid, blown-out face, Razak felt an urgent sense of linking this to something the authorities would find useful—something that could help to bring closure to their investigation.
Barton let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. There was so much to consider. “The only thing I can think of is that the thief got hold of a document of some kind. This burial spot must have been accurately described in an ancient text. The entry was far too precise—it had to have been measured.”
“But who could possess something like that?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes these ancient scrolls or books have been lying around in plain sight, untranslated, in museum rooms—for decades. Maybe some fanatical Christian museum employee,” he said halfheartedly. But then he wondered if it wasn’t that far-fetched after all.
Razak looked skeptical.
“And you’ve seen nothing in the antiquities markets yet for the ossuary?”
Barton shook his head. “I checked again this morning for any new items. Nothing.”
Without warning, the floor of the chamber shook beneath their feet, instantly followed by a distant, reverberating drone. Alarmed, both Barton and Razak instinctively reached out for something to steady themselves.
Then as quick as it came, it had disappeared. Though it might easily have been confused with a low-level earthquake, both men immediately grasped that it was something else all together.
39
******
Vatican City
Shortly after nine a.m., Father Donovan buzzed the lab intercom, announcing a call for Charlotte from the United States.
“Well, go get it,” Bersei urged.
She made her way to the phone, sliding the mask off her face. She pressed the speakerphone button. “Charlotte Hennesey speaking.”
“It’s me, Evan.”
Hearing his voice come through the small speaker, her stomach fluttered. “Hi Evan. What time is it there?”
“Very early, or very late, depending on how you want to look at it. Anyway, I just finished running a scan on your sample.”
Something in his voice didn’t sound right. Hennesey heard Aldrich rustling some papers.
“Wait,” she said. “I’m on speakerphone. Let me pick up.” She snapped off her lab gloves and grabbed the receiver. “Okay,” she said.
Aldrich jumped right in. “I began with a simple spectral karyotype to get a preliminary idea of the DNA’s quality. You know what we’d be looking for . . . basic plot of chromosome pairs. That’s when I noticed something very odd.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Yes, Charlotte. The result was forty-eight XY.”
In a spectral karyotype, dense DNA strands called chromosomes are marked with fluorescent die and color-sorted into pairs to detect genetic aberrations. Since every human inherits twenty-two chromosomes from each parent, an X sex chromosome from the mother, and an additional sex chromosome from the father, a typical result would be forty-six XX for females and forty-six XY for males.
Fortyeight X-Y? Hennesey twisted an earring between thumb and forefinger, trying to let that one sink in. The good news was that the gender was definitely male. That agreed with all the forensic evidence. But Aldrich was suggesting that an extra pair of non-sex chromosomes, or “autosomes,” had appeared in the molecular structure of the sample. Such aberrations were typically linked to serious diseases like Down’s syndrome where an extra chromosome twenty-one was present. “So it’s aneuploidy?” Charlotte whispered.
“Right. We have a mutation here.”
“What kind?” She kept her voice low so as not to draw Bersei’s attention. Glancing over at him, she could see that he was paying her no mind, analyzing the skeletal scans.
“Not sure yet. Got to adjust the gene scanner to handle the additional strands. I wasn’t expecting something like this the first go-round, but it shouldn’t take me much longer. I was able to pull basic coding for the genetic profile. I’ve posted it to your e-mail account.”
“Great. That’ll give me a good head start.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll be in Rome?”
“I don’t know. I think most of the major work is done. I’ll have to make a presentation, of course. Maybe a few more days. I might want to take a couple more just to explore Rome. It’s wonderful here.” “Has the Vatican briefed you fully about the work?”
“Yes, but we’re being told everything here is in strictest confidence. I had to sign a letter of confidentiality. So I can’t really say anything about it.”
“That’s okay Charlie—I don’t need to know. I figure if there’s anyone we can trust it’s the Vatican. I just don’t want BMS involved in anything shady.”
What had he discovered that made him so nervous? she wondered. “One more thing. Did you happen to run the genetic profile against our database to determine ethnicity?”
There was a brief silence. “Actually, I did.”
“Oh.” She was surprised he didn’t mention that. “And what did you find?”
“That’s the other weird thing about all this. I found nothing.”
“What are you talking about?” What he was saying sounded almost ridiculous. Though ninety-five percent of all humans shared the same genetic coding, less than five percent of the genome accounted for differences relating to gender and ethnicity. It wasn’t difficult to spot the variations.
“No matches.”
“But that’s impossible. Did you include Middle Eastern profiles?”
“Yeah.”
The ossuary was part of Jewish burial customs. Perhaps she needed to be more specifi
c. “How about Jewish profiles?”
“Already checked it. Nothing there.”
How could that be? It wasn’t at all consistent with their other findings. “Could it have something to do with the anomaly you found?”
“I’d say so. I’ll let you know what I find. Anything else?”
She hesitated, huddling closer to the wall. “I miss you,” she finally whispered. “And I’m really sorry that I didn’t leave on a better note. I just...I’d like to talk to you when I get back. There’s some stuff you really need to know.”
At first, he didn’t respond. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget me.”
“Impossible,” he said.
“Bye.”
Bersei appeared beside her as she returned the phone to the cradle. “Everything all right?”
Sacred Bones : A Novel Page 20
