Seizure (21 page)

Michael rounded a corner and stopped. Carefully, he looked back. He saw the bellman knock again before getting out a ring of keys on a chain. He opened the door and disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared sans flowers, he was whistling softly. He closed the door and walked back to the elevators.

When the bellman was gone, Michael walked back to room 408. He didn't expect the door to be unlocked, and it wasn't. Looking down the length of the corridor, he saw a cleaning cart. Taking a deep breath and blowing up his cheeks momentarily to bolster his courage, Michael headed toward the cart. It was positioned next to a door held open by a doorstop.

Michael knocked tentatively on the open door.
“Scusi!”
he called out. He heard a television playing in the background. Entering the room, he saw two middle-aged women in brown dress uniforms making the bed.
“Scusi!”
Michael called, considerably more loudly.

The women responded as if shocked. Both perceptively blanched. One recovered enough to run over and turn off the television.

Marshaling his best Italian, Michael asked the women if they could help him. He explained he'd left his key in room 408, and he needed to make an immediate telephone call. He wanted to know if they would be so kind as to open his door to keep him from having to go down to the front desk.

The women exchanged a confused glance. It took Michael a moment to realize that they spoke very little Italian. He explained his supposed predicament again, speaking slowly and distinctly. On this occasion, one of the women got the message, and to Michael's relief held up her passkeys. Michael nodded.

As if to make up for the communication difficulties, the woman pushed past Michael and practically ran down the hall. It was all Michael could do to keep up with her. She unlocked room 408 and held the door open. Michael thanked her as he stepped over the threshold. The door closed.

Michael exhaled. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. He backed up to lean against the door as he surveyed
the room. The drapes were open, and there was plenty of light. There was more luggage than he expected, although all but two of the bags were still zippered or latched as if they had yet to be opened. Unfortunately, there was no silver box visible on the bureau, the desk, or the nightstands.

Michael could feel his pulse racing. He was also perspiring copiously. “I'm not good at this,” he whispered. He desperately wanted to find the silver box and leave. It took all his willpower to stay in the room.

Pushing off from the door, he went first to the desk. Centered on the blotter between two laptop shoulder bags was a room key for 408. After a moment's hesitation, Michael picked it up and pocketed it. Rapidly, he searched the laptop bags: no silver case. It took only a moment for him to go through the desk drawers. Save for the hotel stationery, they were empty. Next was the bureau. It too was empty, except for laundry forms and plastic laundry bags. The small drawers of the nightstands were also empty. He checked the bathroom, but no silver box. Looking into the closet, he saw a safe and breathed a sigh of relief. The door was ajar and it was empty. He checked the pockets of a man's jacket hanging on the rod: nothing.

Turning back into the room, he eyed the unlatched suitcases. They were on luggage stands at the foot of the bed. Approaching each in turn, he raised their lids and ran his hand around their peripheries. He encountered various and sundry objects but no silver box. He then carefully lifted the clothing to search more thoroughly. Suddenly, he heard voices, and to his horror, it sounded like American English. He stood up, frozen in place. In the next instant, he heard the worst sound he could have imagined. It was the sound of a key being thrust into the door lock!

3:45
P
.
M
., Monday, February 25, 2002

 

“What on Earth?”
Stephanie questioned. She was standing in the doorway to their room. Daniel peered over her shoulder.

“What's the matter?” Daniel asked.

“There are flowers on the bureau,” Stephanie said. “Who in God's name would be sending us flowers?”

“Butler?”

“He doesn't know we're here in Turin, unless you emailed him.”

“I didn't email him,” Daniel said, as if it were totally out of the realm of possibility. “But with his intelligence connections, maybe he knows. After having me investigated, I wouldn't put it past him. Or maybe Monsignor Mansoni communicated that the sample had been delivered.”

Stephanie walked over to the arrangement and opened the envelope. “Oh, for goodness sake. It's just the hotel management.”

“That's nice,” Daniel said indifferently. He went into the bathroom to use the toilet.

Stephanie moved over to her suitcase that was perched on
the luggage stand. She had a pair of walking shoes tucked along the left side. Lifting up the unlatched top to the bag, she hesitated. A linen shirt she had painstakingly packed back in Boston was mildly amiss, with its edge folded over. With her finger, she righted the fold. As she feared, a crease remained, even after she tried to smooth it out with the palm of her hand. Mumbling one of her private vulgarities to herself, she started to reach for the walking shoes when her eye caught an article of lingerie, which was also slightly disarranged and which she had packed with equal care.

Stephanie righted herself and stared down at her open suitcase. “Daniel! Come in here!”

With the sound of the toilet flushing in the background, Daniel's face appeared in the bathroom doorway. He was holding a towel. “What's up?” he questioned with raised eyebrows. He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was mildly perturbed.

“Someone has been in our room!”

“We already knew that when we saw the flowers.”

“Come over here!”

Daniel slung the towel over his shoulder as he walked over to stand next to Stephanie. He followed her pointing finger and looked down at her open suitcase.

“Someone has been in my bag,” Stephanie said.

“How can you tell?”

Stephanie explained.

“Those are pretty subtle changes,” Daniel said. He patted her patronizingly on her back. “You've been in your bag yourself before we went out. Are you sure you're not having a minor attack of paranoia, thanks to the Cambridge break-in?”

“Someone has been in my bag!” Stephanie repeated heatedly. She pushed his hand away. With her jet lag and being overtired, she felt instantly frustrated that Daniel was being so dismissive. “Look in your suitcase!”

Rolling his eyes, Daniel opened his unlatched bag on the stand next to Stephanie's. “Okay, I'm looking in mine,” he reported.

“Anything amiss?”

Daniel shrugged. He was far from the world's neatest
packer, and he had rummaged in his bag earlier when retrieving clean underwear. All at once, he froze, then slowly raised his eyes to Stephanie's. “My God! There is something missing!”

“What?” Stephanie clutched Daniel's arm as she looked into his bag.

“Somebody took my vial of plutonium!”

Stephanie swatted Daniel's shoulder. He responded by protecting himself in an exaggerated fashion from further blows, which never came.

“I'm being serious,” Stephanie complained stridently. Returning to her own bag, she picked up her hairbrush and brandished it. “Here's something else! When we left on our outing, this brush was directly on top of my clothes, not lying in the suitcase's gutter. I remember because I thought about taking it back into the bathroom. I'm telling you: Someone has been in my bag!”

“All right! All right!” Daniel soothed. “Take it easy!”

Stephanie reached into her bag's side pocket and pulled out a zippered velvet pouch. She opened it and peered inside. “At least my jewelry is okay, including the little bit of cash that I keep in here. It's a good thing I didn't bring anything truly valuable.”

“Maybe housekeeping had to move the bags?” Daniel suggested.

“Give me a break!” Stephanie responded, as if Daniel's suggestion was preposterous. Her eyes wandered around the room until they came to rest on the desk. “My room key is gone! I left it on the blotter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don't you remember we talked about it before we left, whether we needed two keys?”

“Vaguely.”

Stephanie strode into the bathroom. Daniel's eyes roamed the room. He couldn't decide if Stephanie's paranoia was worth indulging, since he was aware she was still upset about the intruder in Cambridge. He knew that hotel people such as housekeeping, minibar stockers, room-service personnel, and bellmen were in and out of rooms all the time. Maybe one of them had poked their hands into her bag. For some people, it might be a huge temptation.

“Someone has also been in my cosmetics bag,” Stephanie called from the bathroom.

Daniel walked to the door and stood on the threshold. “Is anything missing?”

“No, nothing is missing!” Stephanie answered irritably.

“Hey, don't get mad at me!”

Stephanie straightened up, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. She nodded a few times. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, just frustrated you're not as upset about this as I.”

“If we were missing something, it would be different.”

Stephanie closed the cover of her makeup bag. She stepped over to Daniel and put her arms around him. He enveloped her similarly.

“It upsets me when people paw through my belongings, especially after what happened the day before we left.”

“That's entirely understandable,” Daniel said.

“It is curious nothing is missing, like the cash. That makes this episode exactly like the one in Cambridge, although having it happen here is more confusing. At least there we could postulate industrial espionage, even if it's unlikely. What could someone be looking for here if not valuables and cash?”

“The only thing I can think of is the shroud sample.”

Stephanie leaned away from Daniel so she could see up into his face. “Why would someone be looking for that?”

“Beats me. It's just the only thing we have that's unique.”

“But presumably the only person who knows we have it is the man who gave it to us.” Stephanie's brows were knitted together as if she was troubled anew.

“Calm down! I don't think anyone was looking for the shroud sample. I was just thinking out loud. But as long as we are talking about it, where is it?”

“It's still in my shoulder bag,” Stephanie said.

“Get it! Let's have another look!” Daniel thought it best to steer the subject away from a possible intruder.

They retreated back to the middle of the room. Stephanie picked up her bag from where she'd tossed it on the bed. She took out the silver case and opened it. Daniel gingerly lifted out the glassine envelope and held it up to the diffused light coming from the windows. Backlit, the mat of linen fibers was
distinct, although its color was still indeterminate. “My gosh!” Daniel said with a shake of his head. “It is truly amazing to think that there is even the slightest chance this contains the blood of arguably the most famous person to have trod this Earth, and that's not even addressing the divine aspect.”

Stephanie put the silver case down on the desk and took the envelope. Stepping over to the window, she too held it up to the light. Shielding the slanting rays of the sun from her eyes with her free hand, she used the pale but direct white light to examine the envelope. Now even the fibers' red ocher color could be appreciated. “It looks like blood,” she said. “You know, it must be my Catholic background mysteriously reasserting itself, because I have a strong intuition it is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

 

Although Father Michael Maloney could not see Stephanie D'Agostino, he was so close he could hear her breathe. He was terrified his own heartbeat pounding in his temples would give him away or, if not that, then the sound of drops of perspiration dripping from his face and falling to splatter against the floor. She was mere inches away.

In utter desperation when he'd heard the key thrust into the door, he'd dashed behind the drapes. It had been a reflex act. In retrospect, going behind the curtains was an embarrassment in and of itself, as if he were some common thief. He should have stood his ground, accepted his fate at being caught, and taken full responsibility for his actions. He understood the best defense was an offense, and in the present situation, to justify his actions he should have used his indignation about these people's true identities and the upcoming unauthorized testing of the shroud that they were obviously planning.

Unfortunately, his fight-or-flight reaction had been overwhelming, particularly on the flight side, such that when he'd come to his senses he was already hiding, and once hiding, it was too late to play the indignation card. Now all he could do was hope and pray he'd not be discovered.

At first he thought all was lost with Stephanie's exclamation the moment the door opened. He imagined that he'd either been seen or at the very least the curtain's movement had
been apparent. It had been a relief beyond words when he realized it had been the flower arrangement that had caught her attention.

Then he had to endure Stephanie's discovery of his ineptness at searching her suitcase and the fact that he'd taken her key from the desk. That was when his pulse began to rise again after having slowed a degree from the initial shock. He feared she would start searching the room, which would mean he'd be immediately discovered. The embarrassment and consequences of such an event were too horrible to contemplate. What had begun as a way of ensuring his future career was now threatening to have the absolute opposite effect.

“What we think about the shroud is not important,” Daniel said. “It's just what Butler thinks that matters.”

“I'm not sure I agree with you entirely,” Stephanie responded. “But that's a discussion for another day.”

Michael stiffened as Stephanie brushed against the drapes. Thankfully, they were heavy Italian brocade, and she apparently did not notice that she had also touched Michael's arm through the fabric. Another adrenaline rush coursed through Michael's body, resulting in more perspiration. To him, the sound of the intermittent drops of sweat splattering against the floor were as loud as pebbles dropping on a drum. He never imagined he could perspire so profusely, especially when he wasn't even all that hot.

“What should I do with the sample?” Stephanie asked, as she moved away.

“Give it to me,” Daniel replied from someplace in the room.

Michael allowed himself to take a deep breath, and he relaxed a degree. He had himself pressed up against the wall as flat as he could be, to minimize the bulge his body made in the drape. He heard more sounds he could not identify, along with what he guessed was the silver casing snapping shut.

“You know, we could change rooms,” Daniel said. “Or even hotels if you want.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should just stay put. There are multiple keys for every room in every hotel. Tonight when we sleep, we'll be sure to use the dead bolt.”

Michael heard the heavy click of the security lock being activated on the door to the hall.

“That's a lock and a half,” Daniel commented. “What do you say? I don't want you to feel nervous. There's no need.”

Michael heard the door to the hall shake.

“I guess the lock's all right,” Stephanie said. “It seems secure.”

“With that dead bolt thrown, no one would be able to come through that door without us knowing it. They'd have to use a battering ram.”

“Okay,” Stephanie said. “Let's just stay here. It is only one night, and a short one at that, since you have us flying out to London at five after seven. What an ungodly hour. By the way: How come we're going through Paris?”

“There was no choice. British Airways apparently doesn't serve Turin. It was either Air France to Paris or Lufthansa to Frankfurt. I figured it was better not to backtrack.”

“It seems ridiculous not to have a direct flight to London, of all places. I mean, Turin is one of the major industrial cities of Italy.”

“What can I say?” Daniel questioned with a shrug. “But for now, how about you getting your walking shoes and whatever else you want so we can get back to our sightseeing.”

“Oh, please do!” Michael pleaded silently.

“I've had a change of heart,” Stephanie said, to Michael's immediate chagrin. “What about staying in until we go out to dinner? It's already after four, and it will be dark soon. As little as you slept last night, you must be exhausted.”