by Lynn Sholes
"Some social justice advocates oppose cloning," the correspondent said. "They fear a widening gap between the haves and have-nots if affluent parents decide to genetically enhance their children."
"That might be a by-product of our research one day. Just like anything else, you have to weigh the benefits. We're pioneers venturing into new frontiers," Sinclair said. "Therapeutic cloning gives us the ability to get perfectly matched tissue for the patient, whether they have Parkinson's disease, diabetes, spinal cord injury-so the patient will not reject those cells. That's what we do at BioGentec. We don't debate ethics, we don't play God-we simply work to save lives."
"But you must realize-"
The phone rang on Sinclair's desk. He held his hand up. "Excuse me a moment." Picking up the receiver, he said, "Yes?"
"They're on a plane to Rome," Ben Gearhart said on the other end. "The priest is helping her take it to the Vatican."
Sinclair smiled. "That's very good news." He replaced the receiver and looked back at the correspondent. "You were saying?"
THE CARDINAL
"YOUR EMINENCE, FATHER TYLER and the SNN reporter are on their way up," Cardinal Antonio lanucci's aide announced. "They've just passed through security."
"Thank you." The cardinal gazed out his second story office window. Adjacent to the Vatican Museums, his office overlooked the inner courtyard of the Belvedere Palace. He remembered a diplomat once telling him that in America an office this big would be called a formal ballroom. A frescoed ceiling met walls covered with medieval tapestries-a Persian rug the size of a swimming pool accented a portion of the fifteenth century wooden floor. Two-hundred-year-old brocade and damask couches and chairs were placed strategically around the room, their hand-carved legs rich in gold leaf.
The cardinal returned to his desk to study the flat screen monitor. At 68, he moved with ease, dedicating over an hour each morning to a strict regimen of exercise. Born in Italy to a British mother and Italian father, he grew up fluent in both languages. Even as a youngster he was fascinated with the trappings and traditions of the Catholic Church and the priesthood. Early in life he set his goal, heading toward it as if traveling through a tunnel-no sidetracks, no distractions, no deviations. He knew he had been called, and he wanted to serve God in the most powerful way he could.
With degrees in theology and cannon law, Ianucci had taught at the Urbanian University in Rome prior to attending the Vatican's diplomatic college. He spent over a decade serving with the Secretariat of State after being made a bishop in 1980. In 1997, he was elevated to cardinal, and in 2000 the pope appointed him Vatican Curator. Among the elite inner core of the Vatican, he was considered a leading candidate for successor to the papacy-the goal at the end of the tunnel-God's supreme servant.
lanucci was familiar with John Tyler, having met him on a number of occasions, but he read the priest's bio to refresh his memory. It stated that Tyler was currently on a leave-of-absence. The cardinal wondered why he had requested the leave, something so rarely sought or granted.
When Archbishop Montiagro had called him about Tyler and the discovery of a relic that might possibly be of unprecedented importance, lanucci rearranged his schedule to accommodate a meeting. As with any new discovery, he was excited. "Unprecedented importance," he whispered. "I could use some of that."
Montiagro had made it clear that Tyler insisted on bringing along a member of the press. That puzzled the cardinal. lanucci hadn't gotten the impression that the priest was glory hungry. He might have to remind Tyler of the Vatican protocol when it came to the press-a protocol that did not put American reporters at the top of the list. Besides, lanucci had his own list-select members of the world press-ones he knew and trusted to quote him verbatim. The Vatican was a sovereign nation in which serving God was the focal point of every movement, every thought, and every deed. Not the place for American reporters whose objectives were usually either sensationalism or exploitation.
The cardinal closed the file and put the computer into sleep mode.
"Eminence, your guests are here," the aide announced after knocking and opening the massive door.
"Show them in." He stood and came around his desk. "Ah, John," he said as the two visitors approached. Extending his right hand palm down, he said, "It's good to see you again."
"Your Eminence." John accepted the cardinal's hand, genuflected, and lightly kissed the sapphire-stoned ring of his office. "Thank you for taking the time to see us. I'd like to present Cotten Stone, a correspondent for the Satellite News Network. Ms. Stone came into possession of the artifact while on assignment in the Middle East. She'll be covering the news of its authentication for her network."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Stone. I hope you will take pity on an old man and speak of me only in glowing terms when you file your report."
"I'm sure there would be no other way, Eminence," Cotten said, shaking the cardinal's hand.
lanucci 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," lanucci said, tapping his finger on the desktop. "I read only this morning that his Turkish team had reported his deathheart 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.
lanucci 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.
lanucci'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.
lanucci opened a desk drawer and retrieved his own pair of gloves. Slipping them on, he picked up the chalice and examined itexploring the engraved monogram, the small band of beads, and the grapevines winding around the neck. The exhilaration w
as 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." lanucci 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," lanucci 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 lanucci and walked across the ancient wooden floor. As the echo of the fourteen-foot-high doors closed behind them, lanucci 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 lanucci 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 n
ow, 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."
