Sign Of The Cross (3 page)

‘So, what’s a guy have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?’

The man smiled and led Dial into a tiny office. Work schedules and pictures of Kronborg decorated the walls. A metal desk sat in the corner. Dial took a seat just inside the door and was handed a mug of coffee. ‘So, I take it you work here?’

‘For over forty years. I’m the senior tour guide.’

Dial grinned. He had hit the jackpot. ‘You know, I’ve traveled all over the world to every continent on the globe, but I’ve never seen a country like this. Denmark is simply gorgeous.’

The man beamed with pride. ‘It’s the best-kept secret in Europe.’

‘Well, if I promise to keep my mouth shut, will you tell me about it?’

Their conversation went on for ten minutes, filled with the facts and figures about the area. Dial spoke every once in a while, gently steering the conversation in the direction he wanted, but for the most part kept quiet. ‘Out of curiosity,’ he asked, ‘what type of tourists do you get?’

‘Mostly people between the ages of forty and sixty, equal mix of men and women. Though we tend to get a lot of students during the school year.’

‘What about nationalities? Are most of your tourists from Denmark?’

He shook his head. ‘Just the opposite. Most of them are from the surrounding countries. Sweden, Germany, Austria, Norway. We get a lot of Brits because of Shakespeare.’

‘Shakespeare? What does he have to do with anything?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

Dial shook his head, even though he was
very
aware of the Shakespearean connection. Of course he wasn’t about to tell the tour guide that. Better to play dumb and get the story from him.

‘Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
takes place in the castle at Elsinore.’

‘Elsinore? Is that somewhere around here?’

‘You’re
in
Elsinore! Elsinore
is
Helsingør.
Hamlet
took place here! Sometimes we even give performances in the courtyard. You should stop by and see one.’

Dial grimaced. ‘Nah. I’m not much of a theater fan. More of a sports guy myself… But for the sake of my investigation, let me ask you something. Does anyone die in
Hamlet
?’

‘Good heavens, yes! The whole play is about murder and revenge.’

‘That’s kind of interesting, considering recent events. I wonder if there’s a connection?’

The man looked around, paranoid, then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Of course there’s a connection. There
has
to be. Why would someone dump a body here if there wasn’t?’

Dial stood from his chair, finally ready to examine the crime scene. ‘That’s what I need to figure out.’

Maria figured it was an illusion caused by poor lighting. All of that changed when she put her hand on the stone. Its texture was too perfect to be natural. ‘
Professore?
Do you have a minute?’

Boyd crossed the grotto, stepping over the tangle of power cords and dusty tools that were scattered about the floor. Maria was staring at the wall, so he turned in that direction. In an instant he knew what it was, and the realization made his knees buckle.

Over a span of three feet, the cave went from rough to smooth to rough again, like someone had taken a giant piece of sandpaper and rubbed it against the wall. He reached out, half afraid, worried that the floodlights were playing tricks on his weary eyes. The sleek surface proved that they weren’t. ‘Quick! Hand me my gun.’

The
gun
was Boyd’s nickname for his handheld blower, a small archaeological device that he used during excavations. Approximately the size of a cell phone, the gun contained a small cartridge of oxygen that blew dirt out of the tiny crevices and did less damage than a sharp tool. Boyd cleaned the surface of the wall using a paintbrush in one hand and his gun in the other. Rubble fell to his feet like heavy rain, causing tiny wisps of dust to float into the air. A few minutes later the outline of a three-foot square began to take shape in the middle of the cave.

‘Yes, I do believe you have found something.’

Maria squealed with delight. ‘I knew it! I knew that rock looked different!’

After clearing three sides of the seam – upper, left, and right – Boyd was able to measure the stone slab: thirty-seven and a half inches square by five and a half inches deep. Maria dragged one of the lights closer and tried to peer through the corners, but the cave wall had a back lip that prevented it.

‘
Professore
, what do you think it is? It’s too small to be a door, isn’t it?’

Boyd finished writing in his binder. ‘Drainage, perhaps? Maybe an aqueduct? Once we see what’s on the other side, I’m sure we’ll have a better idea.’

Boyd handed her a crowbar. ‘And since you found the stone, I think you should have the privilege of removing it.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she slipped the bar in the seam. ‘This means a lot to me, sir. I actually feel like we’re a team.’

‘Now don’t be surprised if you need my help. Stones like this can be rather stubborn. I recall one time in Scotland when -‘

A loud thud echoed through the chamber as the massive rock crashed to the floor. The two archaeologists glanced at each other in disbelief, then lowered their gaze to the giant slab that sat at their feet. ‘Good Lord!’ Boyd said. ‘Have you been taking steroids?’

Confused, he dropped to his knees and examined the stone that had practically jumped from the wall. He tried to push the block on its side but was unable to budge it. ‘Then how in God’s good name did you manage that? This thing weighs a ton. And that’s not a hyperbole, my dear. This thing literally weighs a ton!’

‘I don’t know. I barely put any pressure on it. I just put the crowbar in and… pop!’

Boyd realized engineers in ancient Rome were advanced for their time. However, he couldn’t figure out why they would build a wall where one of the stones could be knocked out of place with such minimal effort. Perhaps, he thought, it was an escape tunnel.

‘Excuse me,
Professore
?’

He blinked, then turned his attention to his assistant. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I was lost in thought. Did you need something?’

Maria nodded. ‘I wanted to know if we could go inside now.’

Boyd’s face turned a bright shade of red. ‘Good Lord! How silly of me. Here I am, pondering the significance of this bloody stone when we’re on the verge of…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Yes, by all means, let’s venture inside.’

The passageway was narrow, giving them just enough room to enter. Boyd went first, then waited for Maria to pass him his equipment. When her arm finally appeared, he snatched the flashlight and struggled to find the power button. The powerful beam overwhelmed the blackness, shattering the sanctity of the holy grounds for the first time in years, exposing the high-arched ceiling and the colorful murals that adorned the smooth walls.

‘My Lord,’ he gasped in amazement. ‘My sweet Lord!’

Seconds later, Maria squeezed through the hole while carrying a video camera. She had no idea what Boyd was gaping at but was determined to capture it on tape. At least that was the plan. But, the moment she stepped inside the chamber she was so overwhelmed by the artwork that she dropped the camera to her side.
‘Santa Maria!’

Stunned, she spun in a small circle, trying to soak in everything at once. The vaulted roof was typical of the ancient Roman era, allowing the majority of the ceiling’s weight to be supported by the chamber’s four walls. Despite this classical approach, the chamber still utilized a series of four Tuscan columns, one placed in each corner for architectural decoration.

In between each pillar, starting just below the arched ceiling, was a series of four religious frescoes, each depicting a different scene from the Bible. The showcased piece of the group appeared to be the life of an unknown saint, for it was twice as large as the others and was centered on the right wall directly behind a stone altar.

‘What is this place?’ she whispered.

Boyd continued to gaze around the room, amazed that he’d found the mythical vaults. ‘The basic design looks similar to many buildings built during the peak of the Roman Empire, but the paintings on the walls are much more recent – perhaps fifteenth or sixteenth century.’

He paused, staring at the frescoes. ‘Maria, do they look familiar to you?’

She strolled forward, studying the colorful scenes as she moved about the chamber. She had no idea what he was referring to, but that didn’t stop her. She carefully eyed the paintings, trying to find the common thread that would unite them. ‘Oh my Lord! I
have
seen these before! These murals are in the Sistine Chapel.’

‘Exactly!’ Boyd applauded. ‘Adam and Eve, the flood, Noah’s ark. The three main subjects of Michelangelo’s ceiling. In fact, these frescoes look remarkably similar to his.’

Maria glanced from picture to picture. ‘They
do
possess his flair, don’t they?’

‘I almost hate to say this without any tangible proof, yet… I wonder if Michelangelo actually did these himself.’

Her eyes doubled in size. ‘You’re joking, right? You actually think
he
painted these?’

Boyd nodded. ‘Think about it, Maria. This place served as a second Vatican for decades. When the Great Schism occurred, the Italian popes came to Orvieto for protection. At the time the Church was in such disarray the papal council actually considered moving the Vatican here permanently. They felt this was the only place that could offer them adequate protection.’

Maria grinned. ‘And if the Vatican was going to be moved, the popes would want the right decorations for the new home of the Catholic Church.’

‘Exactly! And if the pope wanted Michelangelo to do the decorating, then Michelangelo did the decorating.’ Boyd chuckled as he remembered a story about the famous artist. ‘Did you know that Michelangelo didn’t want anything to do with the Sistine Chapel? Rumor has it that Julius II, the pope at the time, bullied him into doing the project. Once beating him with a cane, and once threatening to kill Michelangelo by tossing him off the scaffolding… Not exactly the type of behavior you’d expect from a pope, is it?’

She shook her head. ‘Do you think he forced Michelangelo to do these, too?’

Boyd considered her question. ‘If my memory is correct, the last pope to stay here was Pope Clement
VII
during Spain’s attack on Rome in 1527. I believe Michelangelo did the Sistine Chapel about twenty years before then, meaning he would’ve had plenty of time to duplicate his scenes on these walls before his death.’

‘Or,’ Maria deadpanned, ‘someone could have done these first, and Michelangelo might have copied them back at the Vatican.’

A flash of excitement crossed Boyd’s face. ‘My dear, you have a bloody good point there! If these were done before the others, then the Sistine Chapel would be nothing more than an imitation. Goodness me! Can you imagine the flak we’d get if we proved that Michelangelo was a forger? We’d never hear the end of it!’

Maria laughed, knowing her dad would have a stroke if she were involved in something like that. ‘That does have controversy written all over it. Doesn’t it?’

Although the concept was controversial, it paled in comparison to things that they were about to discover deeper inside the Catacombs.

While Maria filmed the artwork, Dr Boyd crept down the three stone steps on the left side of the chamber. At the bottom he turned to his right and peered into darkness.

Amazingly, he saw a series of open tombs so great in number that they faded into the depths of the corridor beyond the reach of his light. The ceiling soared above him to a height of over fifty feet and was lined on both sides by an intricate system of niches, built to hold the skeletal remains of the dead. These
loculi
were cut into the tufaceous walls in straight rows, each rectangle measuring six feet across – just big enough for a body.

‘This is stunning,’ he gasped. ‘Simply stunning!’

Maria hustled after him and focused the camera on one of the unmarked graves. She hoped to get a better view of the long passageway, but it was far too narrow for her to slip past Boyd – no more than three feet from wall to wall.

‘Tell me, Maria, what do you see?’

She smiled. ‘I see dead people.’

But Boyd missed her reference to
The Sixth Sense
. ‘So do I. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why can we see the bodies? Per custom, most
loculi
were sealed with tiles and mortar after the dead were placed inside. Others were covered with a marble slab. But I’ve never seen this before. Why would they leave the bodies exposed?’

She frowned, thinking of the Catacombs of Saint Callixtus in Rome. They were built by Christians in the middle of the second century and encompassed an area of ninety acres, with four levels and more than twelve miles of galleries.

When she was ten, she toured the ruins on a school trip, an experience that she loved so much that she rushed home and told her parents that she wanted to be an archaeologist. Her mom smiled and told her she could be whatever she wanted as long as she worked hard. But it was an answer that didn’t set well with dad. When he finished laughing, he stared Maria in the eyes and told her, in all seriousness, to give up her dreams and concentrate on finding a husband.

It was a moment that she’d never forget. Or forgive.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ she said, ‘but aren’t the Christian tombs at Saint Callixtus open-air as well? I remember seeing a lot of holes in the walls.’

‘You saw holes, but no bodies. It was the custom of early Christians to wrap their dead in a shroud before they sealed it inside the
loculi
. The holes that you’re referring to were cracked open by looters and scholars. But that’s not the case down here. If you look -‘

Boyd stopped in midsentence, his attention suddenly focused on the passageway ahead. Something was wrong. The corridor stretched into the darkness, snaking through the stone like a black viper. He tried to see the end of the hall but couldn’t. Shadows danced around him, cast by human hands that dangled from their graves like they were reaching for his light. As though his presence had somehow stirred them from their centuries of slumber. In a moment of panic, he stepped backward into one of their outstretched hands and felt icy-cold fingers against the back of his leg. Terror sprang from his lips, soon followed by a shriek from Maria.