Shrouded in Silence (34 page)

No record existed of how this hidden area had been developed, which meant the Vatican was still keeping it under wraps. Probably they wanted to plumb the depths of whatever had once been down there in the Circus of Nero and Caligula dig before they let anyone in on the big secrets. The fact that old Father Donnello had been banished to the bottom of the ladder had its own implication. Whatever he had done, Jack figured the old man had probably offended somebody big time.

A musty smell drifted up from the bottom as if someone were digging in soft dirt. Probably archaeologists had already gone to work for the day. Jack turned the corner and observed three men bending over holes in the ground far back in a recessed area, slowly, painfully working to expose what had once been a wall at the side of the racetrack. Chariots must have once raced around the outer perimeter of the track two thousand years ago. For a moment, he allowed his imagination to re-create the horses with their imperial officers trotting around the arena while the crowds cheered wildly. The scene reminded him of the majesty that had once been the Roman Empire.

When Jack reached the bottom of the stairs, the office of the priest stood not far ahead next to racks of books and manuscripts of antiquity. To descend to this pit of ancient history day after day took a special variety of endurance. Perhaps the old priest had a gift of tenacity. Jack walked toward the door and knocked.

"
Che?"
echoed from the office.

"
Un amico,"
Jack answered.

"A friend?" The door opened slightly and a white-bearded head poked around the door.

"It's Jack Townsend. Remember me?"

"Why, yes! You are Dov Sharon's colleague. The author of
An Answer to the Cynics.
A surprise indeed.

"Might I come in for a moment?"

The old man nodded. "Most certainly. I seldom get visitors down here. In fact, Dov was about the only new face I've seen in this hole in years." Father Donnello sneered. "I think they do everything possible to keep me in isolation."

Jack walked in and glanced around. Sitting down on the only footstool in the small room, he noticed that the white-haired old man's scraggly beard hung at odd angles from his face. Bent over with a slight hump on his back, his skinny arms dangled like toothpicks. Probably always small in stature, Donnello left the impression that time and a touch of some disease like osteoporosis had shrunken him. Wearing a clerical collar with a faded black shirt and pants, he gave the appearance of a figure emerging out of antiquity.

"A little tea?" The priest pointed to his beat-up old tin pot. "Maybe a coffee? The water's hot." He rubbed his hands together. "It can get cool down here."

"Thank you," Jack said. "Some hot tea would warm me on this cool November day. Certainly."

"I haven't seen Dov in weeks." Father Donnello scurried around setting out the cups. "I suppose he has been busy."

"No," Jack's voice fell. "I'm afraid not." He took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard?" Father Donnello stopped. "What do you mean?"

"A bomb was placed under our offices," Jack's words tumbled out with awkwardness. "We've had a hard time making sense out of the explosion. I barely survived, but Dov was killed."

The old priest froze. Color drained from his already pale face. For a moment, he stood speechless with his mouth partially open. "No," he barely whispered. "Please, no."

Jack could only nod his head.

Father Donnello dropped into his desk chair like lead hitting the floor. He pounded his chest as if trying to make his heart start to beat again. "I-I d-don't know w-what to say." He rubbed his mouth and shook his head. "I-I'm speechless."

"Dov's death has been difficult for me to face," Jack said. "I've only been able to think about it quite recently. His demise has been a stunning blow."

The priest looked away, but tears formed in his eyes. "I didn't know Dov long, but our relationship quickly became intense. The young man touched a nerve that ran through everything I have been about. I wanted to help him, befriend him." He kept shaking his head. "I-I just can't believe he's gone."

"We worked together closely and were intensely involved in a couple of current projects. His help always proved invaluable . . . but . . . now . . . it's over."

Father Donnello pushed his coffee mug aside. "Yes, he talked about your work in finding the original ending to the Gospel of Mark. I admired the effort, and we discussed it in some detail."

"And we were working on the project that you call the Brown Book."

The priest flinched. "We don't speak of that document down here."

"I understand, but it has raised several questions that I must ask you today. Will you allow me the time?"

Getting up out of his chair, Father Donnello went to the door and looked out. Seeing no one, he turned to a small window in the back and opened a Venetian blind. The only people in the area were the three archaeologists working far away on their dig. Closing the blind, he pulled his chair closer to Jack's stool.

"Dov understood how confidential these matters must be. His life had been lived under the cover of threat and danger. He knew well that some issues can only be whispered about and never spoken of in public."

Jack nodded. "I didn't live in his Jewish world, but I understand it well. In addition, to surviving the bombing, my wife and I have been under attack and endured gunfire twice since the explosion. We currently must fear for our lives as well."

"You too!" The old man's eyes widened in shock. "Oh my! How terrible!"

"I don't come here casually, Father Donnello. I need your help because we are now boiling in the same cauldron of hot oil that Dov perished in. This is why I ask for your confidence."

"What do you need to know?"

"Did anyone else besides you and Dov know about our search for
The Prologue of James?"

The old man shook his head. "I don't think so."

"You know that my wife and I work to protect the integrity of the Scripture. Our response to the cynics was just such an attempt."

"Yes, I know and am deeply appreciative."

Jack scooted closer and lowered his voice further. "I can't imagine anyone in the Vatican wanting to attack us over our search for the ending to Mark's Gospel. Apparently
The Prologue
is another matter. Do you know of anyone in the Vatican who would try to kill us because we were looking for this book?"

Father Donnello kept rubbing his chin. "You are a scholar and know our history through medieval times well. We've had everyone from Cesare Borgia and his murderous ways to Popes promoting their own children for high office. The Vatican has been behind monstrous crusades, and some say Pius XII failed to protect the Jews when Hitler came to town. We've had great and powerful spiritual leaders as well as popes who were nothing more than conniving charlatans. Yes, there have been a few scoundrels around capable of killing, but I know of no one who knew about Dov's interest in
The Prologue.
I think I can absolutely tell you that no one in the Vatican has been after you."

Jack ran his hand nervously through his hair. "I appreciate your candor. It's most helpful to be able to eliminate the Vatican from our list of potential attackers."

"I truly believe you can," Donnello said. "If for no other reason than no one knows about what's going on but me."

"Then, I have one more question. Before Dov died, he led me to believe that you had told him where
The Prologue of James
was hidden."

The priest said nothing.

"I think Dov told me where the document is hidden. Moments later the bomb exploded, and for days I didn't know who I was. Slowly, my memory began returning, but this piece of the puzzle hasn't come back. I can't decide if Dov told me or I dreamed the idea. Can you help me by clarifying what happened?"

Once again, the priest pulled at his chin. "I never speak of these matters. Dov was an exception. My love of the Jewish people cracked the veneer that I learned to keep around myself as a priest. I should never have told him what I did."

"Then, you did relate confidential information to him about where this document is hidden?"

"Why do you want to know?" Donnello's voice took on a more disdainful inflection.

"I have two reasons," Jack said. " I am concerned about my own stability. The hospital thought that I wouldn't survive the bombing. Then, it took me some time to regain much of my stability. It's important that I not walk around like some sort of zombie, thinking that I remember what never happened."

"Hmm, I can appreciate that posture. What else is rattling around in your head?"

"I can't understand why you would have told Dov where the document is hidden after all these years of silence."

"I suppose you'd have to be a Jew to understand."

Jack blinked several times. "I don't grasp your answer."

"The Jewish people have suffered such persecution that they have a right to have a break now and then. I believed Dov Sharon to be such a person, and I knew he would handle the information well."

"But he told me," Jack said. "Wouldn't that validate your passing the same information on to me?"

"I can't answer you today," Donnello said. "I will have to give this considerable thought. I suppose I must measure your intentions carefully."

"I understand. Just remember that Dov considered me to be his brother."

46

T
he afternoon sun drifted through the locked front window and the lacy curtains, throwing light across the Townsends' living room. Detective Alfredo Pino paced nervously back and forth across their living room. Father Don Blake sat passively in a chair across from Michelle. Pino's constant fidgeting and sighing made her nervous, but she tried not to overreact.

"Really, detective," Michelle said. "My husband will be home shortly. He only had to make a trip to the Vatican Library. We don't have any problems to fret over today."

"No problems!" Pino exclaimed. "For people who've been nearly blown to Sicily, you have no problems? If so, I don't know what a problem is!"

"Come now, Alfredo," the priest said. "There's no need to go into orbit."

"But she said he'd be back thirty minutes ago," the detective protested and pointed at Michelle. "I don't see him."

"That was a figure of speech," Michelle said. "If nothing else, the traffic can slow anybody down."

"Our friend detective Pino tends to get a little nervous on occasion," Father Blake said. "Personally, I don't think any of us are in a great hurry."

"Oh, really?" Pino barked. "I have important business elsewhere. Let's be frank. I'm going to have to get on my way if Dr. Townsend doesn't show up quickly."

"He's coming any moment," Michelle protested. "I know he's interested in talking with you."

A knock sounded from the front door.

"Let me see who's here," Michelle said and walked toward the door. She peered through the peephole. "My goodness, it's Guido Valentino." She swung the door open.

"Buonasera," Guido said. "I see you have company."

"Come in. We're waiting for Jack to return. He should be here any moment."

Guido walked in. "Ah, Father Blake. How are you?

"Fine. Yes, I'm fine. I believe you know Detective Pino?"

Guido bowed politely. "We've met several times while walking around the wreckage of the old offices after the bombing. Yes, good to see you sir."

Pino nodded politely with a hint of being put upon.

The back door of the apartment burst open. "I'm home," Jack called out through the kitchen.

"Here he is," Michelle said. "I knew Jack would be here any second."