The Cana Mystery (26 page)

Generally, Ava distrusted churchmen. She knew the Church’s spotty history, and she was well aware of its recent scandals. Not all Catholic leaders had acted honorably. Yet Ava trusted Garagallo. She heard sincerity in his voice, and she shared the bottomless anger he expressed regarding the Nazis. Though she sensed he had a secret agenda, Ava concluded that the bishop was an ally, not an enemy. Having made her decision, she answered him. “Because that’s where we found two of them.”

Garagallo was silent. After a moment, he reclined in his chair, whispered a prayer of thanks, and said, “Please, tell me everything.”

Ava told him of their journey from the monastery to Malta. She began by describing the relics’ discovery and concluded by explaining how she and Paul had escaped the catacombs. For now, she omitted any mention of the disks. Garagallo listened intently. Though he nodded occasionally, he never spoke, allowing Ava to relate her story without interruption. When she finished, he asked, “What do you intend to do with the jars?”

Ava glanced at Paul. He nodded. “We want to give them to the Church,” she said, “pursuant to certain conditions.” She listed their terms.

For a moment, Garagallo appeared lost in thought. Then he rose, smiled, and took Ava’s hands in his. With a warm voice he said, “On behalf of the Church, I thank you for your honesty, selflessness, and generosity. Naturally, in a matter of such importance, I must contact Rome. I may not receive guidance until after we’ve elected our new pope, but you may rest assured that we appreciate your astounding gift.”

They left the study and returned to the main hallway. As they neared the stairs, the bishop said, “Friends, tonight has been a rare pleasure. Thank you for trusting me. I’m honored, and I give my word that you’ll come to no harm within these walls. Please feel welcome to spend the night in my guest quarters. All are fully equipped and comfortable. Or, if you prefer to go, my butler will call a cab. Of course, none may be available right now.”

At that moment, Paul heard gunshots. In an instant, he lunged for Ava, threw her to the ground, and covered her with his body. Once he was sure she was safe, he raised his head to locate the source of the attack. “Fireworks, Paul,” the bishop said quickly. “Those were just fireworks. Weren’t you aware of the festival? They have fireworks at midnight.”

Paul glanced at his empty wrist. Then he consulted the bishop’s grandfather clock. Its hands pointed straight up, and it was chiming. Embarrassed, Paul’s face reddened.

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly. “Guess I overreacted a bit.” As Paul helped Ava regain her footing, Garagallo turned away from his guests and crossed the room. Heading through the doorway, the bishop turned and waved goodnight.

Outside, the street festival continued. After enjoying the dazzling fireworks, the mob of brightly costumed revelers paraded and twirled through the smoky air. The Mediterranean night echoed with the sounds of a thousand happy voices. Groups clustered to sing folk songs, play instruments, dance, and drink.

Amid the throng, two men seemed out of place. They cut through the crowd like sharks through a shoal. Ignoring catcalls and whistles from some intoxicated students, the men approached the waterfront and entered a grand structure. The elder of the two patted his pocket, ensuring that the stolen key was secure. They climbed the stairs.

When they reached Paul and Ava’s room, each man drew a pistol and clicked on his night-vision goggles. Quietly, Lieutenant Barakah slipped the key into the slot. The door unlocked. Motionless, he waited, straining for the faintest sound. Hearing nothing, he eased the door open. With his accomplice covering him, Barakah launched himself through the doorway. Something flashed. Cat-quick, Barakah dropped, rolled, and came up aiming his gun. Silence. No movement. He scanned the room. The blinking light was just an old satphone charging on the nightstand. Then Barakah spotted the closet. He crept toward it. After gesturing for his confederate to enter the room, he grasped the handle and pulled. A hinge squeaked. Startled, his cohort began firing. Barakah’s stomach knotted at the sound. Furious, he swung around and leveled his weapon. The younger man raised his arms and whispered an apology. For several seconds Barakah considered killing him for sheer incompetence. Then he lowered his gun and examined the damage. Bullets had shredded the room’s linens and pillows, but there was no blood. The bed was empty.

At dawn the aroma of rich Ethiopian coffee lured Paul into wakefulness. He cracked open the door and spied the butler, who intimated that the bishop awaited him downstairs. After requesting a few moments to prepare, Paul washed his face, brushed his teeth, and dragged a comb through his thick mop. More than a month had passed since his last haircut, and he was starting to look like a rock star. He pulled on his dirty clothes and went to the breakfast room. Garagallo stood when Paul entered. “Did you get some rest?”

“Yes, thanks. Your guest rooms are very comfortable.”

“And Ava?”

Paul grinned. “Sleeping like a baby. I didn’t wake her.”

“That’s probably best. Unfortunately, I have disturbing news. It will be easier to tell you man to man.”

They sat. Garagallo poured Paul a demitasse of steaming coffee. “Commissioner Rizzo called. There’s been another attempt on your life. Last night criminals broke into your hotel room and stole the jars. Security found your bed riddled with bullet holes.”

Paul sagged into his chair. Despite everything they’d endured, the jars were lost. It was simply too much. He’d been a fool to think he could protect Ava from these thieves. They’d survived thanks only to amazingly good fortune. Sooner or later, luck would run out and they’d be captured or killed. He sipped his coffee, but it had no taste. He looked at the bishop. “I’m sorry about the jars. Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll find them, but you must leave Malta. Dark forces are at work. The longer you wait, the more dangerous it will become.”

“Where should we go?”

“Take Ava across the strait to Italy. The Virtu Rapid Catamaran sails from Valletta to Sicily. When I meet with the commissioner, I’ll arrange tickets.”

Noting Paul’s expression, he asked, “Do you object?”

“No. I’m sorry, Father. That sounds fine. Italy’s as good a destination as any, but it seems pointless to keep running. It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

“Have faith. The tide may yet turn. There is an old German proverb:
Wo die Not am grössten ist, ist Gott am nächsten
. It means ‘Where the need is greatest, God is nearest.’”

The bishop stood, walked to Paul, and handed him a small golden amulet. It was inscribed with a flaming sword and a shepherd’s crook crossed above a castle. Looking into Paul’s eyes, he said, “Take this. When you’re in dire need, show it for protection.”

Paul thanked him, looped its chain over his head, and slid the amulet under his shirt. Making the sign of the cross over his guest, Garagallo whispered, “
Gardez bien.
”

Ava was roused by the ring of the now fully charged world phone. It was Gabe, and he could hardly contain himself. “I think sound data is preserved on your artifacts!” he shouted.

She fell back against the pillows. Audio! Of course! That’s why “no one can read it with mortal eyes.” She recalled Revelation 3:6: “If you have ears, listen to what the Spirit says to the people.” She laughed, then spoke aloud Jesus’s admonition: “Having ears, hear ye not?”

Someone knocked at her door. It was Paul, carrying a pot of tea. He looked worried. Why was she was acting crazy?

Ava yanked him into the room and slammed the door. She set the phone to speaker and began discussing Gabe’s radical hypothesis. Instantly, Paul was lost. When he couldn’t stand any more technical jargon, he asked, “Excuse my skepticism, but how could ancient people record audio? Is that possible? I mean, they didn’t have electricity.”

Ava smiled. “Gabe, do you want to field this one?”

“You don’t need electricity to record stuff,” Gabe explained.  “Before the advent of magnetic tape, sound was recorded mechanically. In 1877, Edison’s phonograph used metal cylinders. Sound vibrations were physically printed and played back when a stylus read the impressions. You can still listen to some. There’s a cool site called tinfoil dot com. Despite background noise, you can hear historical audio of President Taft, William Jennings Bryan—”

Paul stopped him. “But could they record onto a gold disk?” Ava flinched. Gabe had a reputation for intellectual arrogance. He frequently referred to techno-illiterate classmates as troglodytes and imbeciles. She feared Paul was about to be similarly flayed. Instead, Gabe answered calmly.

“Yes, of course. In fact, it’s the medium NASA used. Do you remember
Voyager
?”

“The space probe?”

“Exactly. In 1977, NASA launched
Voyager 1
and
Voyager 2.
Each carried a twelve-inch gold disk containing audio recordings selected by Carl Sagan. The records were encased in protective aluminum jackets with a cartridge, stylus, and symbolic instructions on how to play them.”

“I’m sure NASA could do that in 1977, but these artifacts date back to biblical times.”

“That’s why it’s so cool. Several people have claimed to discover ancient audio recordings, but no claim has been scientifically substantiated. It was the basis for a classic
X-Files
episode—”

Ava cut him off. “Gabe, wouldn’t the recorded information have deteriorated by now?”

“Maybe. It matters how often it was played and by what method. Unfortunately, playing a mechanical recording hastens its destruction. Most of Edison’s recordings on tin have deteriorated, but they were played often. I suspect gold would preserve data just fine. Besides being ductile, gold is unreactive. Therefore, it resists corrosion and tarnishing.”

“Enough to last millennia?”

“It’ll be forty thousand years before
Voyager
approaches a planetary system. If NASA expects those recordings to last that long, then two thousand years seems possible—even on Earth.”

“Can we play these disks? Obviously, a phonograph won’t work. Nothing would fit, and the needle would probably destroy them, but could we reverse-engineer an ancient playback device?”

“Why do all that? Why not just capture the data to a PC running good audio software?”

“How?”

“It depends. You could use an optical scanner or a light-contact technique. Optical is easier and usually results in a better sound. Unlike bouncing a laser beam off a record, optical scanning isn’t susceptible to dirt, damage, or wear. On the other hand, light contact is quicker and more authentic.”

“What do you mean ‘authentic’?”

“Optical-scan results require digital filtering, meaning somebody guides the process. In effect, he or she decides how the final recording will sound, but now there’s some cutting-edge software incorporating precision optical metrology with slippery pattern recognition algorithms—”

“Speak English!” Paul barked.

“Okay, sorry. I’ll back up. Let’s say you break a wax record. Now you can’t play it with a needle, right? But the information is still there—it’s stored mechanically. Once upon a time, two geniuses at Lawrence Berkeley Laboratories got bored studying subatomic particles and used their scanner to optically ‘read’ etchings in damaged antique records. They scanned the physical objects, digitized the images, reintegrated them, and calculated what a stylus would do. The experiment turned out beautifully.”

“Would that work on our disks?”

“I don’t see why not. The Berkeley software is hard core. It was designed to find Higgs bosons. If we had a really good scan, I could model the artifacts’ undulating grooves and extract the audio data. I can even enhance the result to remove scratches, noise, or whatever, but I don’t see how any of that’s helpful.”

“Why not?” Ava asked.

“Because I can’t do anything without scanned images. Photos won’t work. We need much greater detail. Given the point density required, we’d need a high-res scanner suitable for soft, delicate surfaces—”

“Would a Metris LC15 Laser Probe suffice?” Paul asked, enjoying the silence that followed his question.

Once Ava was dressed, she and Paul took a cab to the university. As they were hurrying to the computer center, Paul told her that their hotel room had been robbed. To his surprise, she wasn’t crushed. In fact, the news didn’t seem to faze her. She remained enthused about their current project. After logging into the system using Clarkson’s password, Ava called Gabe. Over the phone, he explained how to use the 3D scanner. She relayed the instructions to Paul, who carefully scanned both disks.

The resultant mountain of digitized information was too large to transmit by phone. Ava attempted to send it via the secure e-mail interface but the system crashed. They were stymied until Gabe suggested saving and transmitting each scanned file individually. It was tedious, but following Gabe’s directions to the letter, Ava completed the task. When Gabe confirmed receipt, Ava heard excitement in his voice. She knew he couldn’t wait to begin his analysis. “Okay, just one last thing,” she said.

“What? What?” he asked.

“Gabe, I really miss you. It’s beyond wonderful hearing your voice again. I was scared that something bad had happened. Thanks for everything you’ve done. You’re a true and loyal friend, and I’ll never forget it.”

Gabe tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He felt tears welling up. Self-conscious, he handed the telephone to Jess and turned away, struggling for self-control.

“Hello? Gabe? Are you there?”

Grinning, Jess said, “Ava, this is Jess. Gabe will be just a moment. He got something in his eye and he’s run to the loo.”

They talked for a while. After bringing her friend up to speed on everything happening in Boston, Jess mentioned that Ava’s parents and teachers were becoming concerned about her extended absence.

“Please tell them not to worry. I’m okay, and I’ll be home soon.”