The Moses Virus (3 page)

“It’s been long day.” Tom stood. “I think I’ll head back to my apartment.”

“Just ask Norm to call you a taxi,” Caroline said. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little shaken. See you tomorrow. ”

The taxi pulled up to the front door of his apartment building on Via Gregoriana. As Tom let himself in the front door of the building, he was too tired to notice a man standing in the shadows across the street. When the outside door closed and Tom was inside, the man spoke quietly into his cell phone and then walked down the street, disappearing into the night.

3

A
fter showering the next morning, Tom dressed, then let himself out onto the terrace, the best feature of his apartment. From the terrace, covered with planters filled with red geraniums blooming like crazy, he could see all of Rome stretch out before him. The thought struck him—the ghastly events of yesterday—they changed everything. The news would be in the papers, too. He walked down the nine flights and into the street. It was a three-minute walk to the Hotel de la Ville, where he knew he could buy the morning’s
International Herald Tribune
and have breakfast.

The Hotel de la Ville was full of tourists, but he had no problem getting a table. After ordering, he glanced at the main headlines on the first page. Good, he thought, no mention of the incident. Then, below the fold, in the lower right-hand side of the front page, there was a photograph of him in the Roman Forum shaking hands with Doc. The headline read:
mysterious deaths at the roman forum.
The opening paragraph said:

Two archaeologists from the American Academy in Rome were killed yesterday while exploring an underground passageway on the Palatine Hill. The Roman Superintendent of Cultural Affairs stated that the roof of the passageway collapsed, and the cave-in resulted in the deaths of the two men. One of the archaeologists killed, Dr. Robert Brown of Bryn Mawr College in the city of Philadelphia in the United States of America, was heading the excavation sponsored by the American Academy in Rome. There had been hopes that the passageway might lead to new finds in the vast, mostly still buried, Golden House of Emperor Nero. The number two archaeologist, who also died, was Eric Bowen, a graduate student at Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.

Professor Thomas Stewart, a trustee of the American Academy in Rome and a professor of forensic archaeology at New York University, was the senior Academy official present and was questioned by the Carabinieri. Dr. Stewart is pictured with Dr. Brown just before the latter dropped down into the passageway and perished. A spokesperson for the American Academy in Rome said there would be an official statement once the investigation was finished. The underground passageway and the American Academy’s excavation itself have been officially closed until further notice.

The article went on but had no further information of consequence.

Cave-in? Tom thought. There was no evidence of a cave-in. Tom felt troubled. What could the reason be for covering up the truth of what had happened yesterday in the Forum?

More important, Tom was disturbed by the fact that the article had included his name and, even more, his photograph. He knew that if the Italian authorities were intent on hiding the truth of the cave-in, any reporter investigating the matter would be calling him to get more information simply because he had been identified in the article as having been there. He hoped that Caroline would handle the aftermath of this tragic event. After he’d finished breakfast, he hailed a cab in front of the Hassler Hotel and was back at the Academy in time for Gabrielli’s phone call.

Lucia, Caroline’s assistant, showed Tom into Caroline’s office. “Thanks for coming, Tom,” Caroline said. “Gabrielli’s secretary telephoned to confirm that he’ll call at 10 a.m. They asked for us to let them sort through Doc’s belongings as part of the investigation. I told them I’d take the request under advisement.”

Caroline continued. “Tom, have you given any more thought to what was going on yesterday with Doc’s and Eric’s deaths? Eric’s parents and Doc’s sister will surely be asking, and they probably won’t buy the official explanation.”

“I’ve been thinking that the arrival of an Italian Hazmat team points to some kind of chemical substance—likely a dangerous one—that caused their deaths, not a collapse of the roof of the passageway,” Tom replied.

A look of concern flashed across her face.

The telephone buzzed. “Lieutenant Gabrielli,” Lucia announced.

“I’ll put it on the conference phone,” Caroline said.

“Ciao, Lieutenant Gabrielli, I’m Caroline Sibelius, director of the American Academy, and I have Dr. Tom Stewart with me. We’re at your disposal.”

“Thank you. I’m sure you have seen the newspapers this morning?”

“Yes, but as I understand it, there was no collapse of the passageway,” Caroline said.

“We had to adjust the story for the media because the deaths involve details we don’t want widely known.”

“Can you please be more specific?” Caroline asked.

“I’d like to, but I cannot.”

Tom broke in. “Two of our friends and colleagues died yesterday. We need to know the reason why.”

“I’m sorry, but the results of the autopsies must be kept confidential until the investigation is completed. Dr. Stefano Pulesi, senior director of the Laboratory for Communicable Substances, will be handling this stage of the investigation.”

“What does this tragic event have to do with communicable substances? I thought this was a routine police investigation.”

“Again, it’s a matter of some . . . sensitivity. I’m sure Dr. Pulesi will be able to explain more.”

“Does this mean that our Academy excavation will be suspended?” Caroline interjected.

“Yes, Signora. I’m afraid so. The passage will be sealed until further notice. We have posted guards there to prevent any curiosity seekers.”

“Is there any danger to anyone who was there yesterday?” Tom asked.

“There’s no danger. We’d like your help, however.”

“How can we help?”

“We’d like to interview the members of the team present at the dig yesterday, including you, Dr. Stewart.”

“I’ve already told the police what happened,” Tom said.

“Yes, but perhaps there is some small fact you’ll recall that will give us a lead. It’s all part of the procedure.”

“Understood. When can we pick up Doc’s and Eric’s remains?” Caroline asked. “Their families would like to make funeral arrangements.”

Gabrielli was silent for a moment. “I’m afraid that we had to arrange for the cremation of the bodies due to the nature of the situation. The ashes will be available later today.”

“Cremated? On whose authority?”

“By order of the Italian Security Agency.”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant Gabrielli, this is entirely unacceptable. The families expect to take possession of the bodies and will be in Rome later today. I must contact the American Embassy.”

“Your embassy has already been informed. I’m sorry, but there was no other way. Dr. Pulesi will be in touch concerning the interviews.”

“Under the circumstances,” Caroline said, “I’m afraid we need to contact our attorneys before we can cooperate further.”

“That is unfortunate. It will only delay matters.”

“Good day, sir.” Caroline hung up.

Caroline and Tom looked at each other in astonishment. Tom offered, “First the cover story, now this. It doesn’t add up.”

“It’s a mess any way you look at it. I’ll need to tell the rest of the group not to speak with this Pulesi or any other official until they hear from me. The families will be furious about the cremations.”

Tom stood. “I better get started on Doc’s things.”

“First door on your left, third floor—it’s Room 272,” she said, as she picked up the phone.

* * *

Doc’s apartment was a one-bedroom apartment with a generous living room and a separate kitchen, which had windows looking over the central courtyard of the main building. When he opened the front door, Tom looked around. Sunlight streamed in the windows, and he could easily see the two giant cypress trees in the courtyard. The other two matching cypresses had become diseased and were replaced by attractive slim younger trees, whose size better suited the space.

What faced Tom was clutter. Clothes, papers, artifacts—all were a jumble on the desk at the window. Nothing out of the ordinary, Tom thought to himself. Doc was always a bit disorganized. Tom went over to the desk. There were several books on Nero’s Golden House, including one with extensive diagrams of one author’s speculation of how the palace rooms had been configured before they were destroyed or buried by the emperors who succeeded Nero. Doc had marked a few diagrams, putting question marks on Post-its. Doc seemed to be looking for something specific. Tom also saw some work papers concerning the dig in the Roman Forum, letters from Doc’s sister, from colleagues at Bryn Mawr, a restaurant receipt.

Then, a single piece of paper caught Tom’s attention. The paper was a work order dated September 17, 1943, from an Italian construction company for some work in the cryptoporticus at the American Academy in Rome. The name of the Swiss Institute was stamped on the paper, and countersigned by Lily Ross Taylor. There was an approval stamp with the initials “PF” next to that. Tom recognized Lily Ross Taylor’s name and knew she had been one of the Academy’s earliest female fellows, the first woman director of the American Academy and a classicist from Bryn Mawr College. Why would Doc have this old work order? Tom wondered.

Tom put the paper in his pocket and went about sorting everything into piles to be packed later and sent to Doc’s sister. After about an hour, he returned to Caroline’s office.

“Did you find anything interesting in Doc’s room?” Caroline asked.

He showed the old work order to Caroline. “Strange. Doc and I were just talking about Lily Ross Taylor last week. She was quite a personality. We have a file on her in the library, and he must have found it there.”

“I’d like to go through her file. That work order seems a little out of the ordinary even for Doc.”

“Marina will help you find it. I’m waiting for callbacks from the American Embassy and the Academy attorney. Let’s meet for lunch later.”

“Works for me. You know—I never expected to be using the Academy library for finding out about World War II Swiss work orders. My editor will have a hard time believing this when I miss my deadline with my new book.”

Caroline replied, “Join the crowd. My book schedule is five years overdue—my job as director is more like being a hotel keeper than a resident scholar: unexpected guests, broken water pipes, international crises.”

“Okay, I get it. See you for lunch. Will you have Lucia tell me where and when?”

Caroline nodded and picked up her telephone.

The main reading room of the Academy library was a haven for scholars. It was something from another era. The vault in the main reading room, painted off-white, soared high overhead, and the tables and shelves were dark Italian walnut. With its open stacks and welcoming design, and the large bronze candelabra in the center of the room, it reminded Tom of the library from his college days at Columbia University.

Marina Calzona, the Academy’s librarian, was a somewhat portly middle-aged woman who wore her glasses on a necklace. She smiled when she saw Tom. For his part, Tom couldn’t help returning the smile.

“Dr. Stewart, how nice to see you. I’m so sorry about what happened to Professor Brown and Eric.”

“Yes, it was a real tragedy. A great loss to us all.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for information about one of the former fellows, Dr. Lily Ross Taylor.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I have it right here. I hadn’t filed it after Professor Brown returned it a few days ago. He said he might want to look at it again. Poor man.” She crossed herself. “So young. May he rest in peace.”

Marina retrieved the bulging file and put it on the counter. “There’s an open desk there on the right. Just bring the file back when you are finished.”

“Thanks for your help.”

Tom took the file to the small desk and began to look through it. There was a list of Lily Ross Taylor’s publications, her awards, and public references to her scholarship and historical role in the Academy. Standard stuff, Tom thought. There were a few photographs in the file. Ross had worn her hair in a crew cut and dressed in mannish clothes. He could picture her, a feisty and controversial figure at Bryn Mawr, a conservative women’s college at the time. Then, he found a small brown envelope wrapped loosely with a string. Someone must have opened it and had done a poor job of retying it.

Tom found two letters inside, one dated August 1, 1943, and the other dated September 26, 1943. The first was a carbon copy from Lily to her sister in Bryn Mawr. Tom glanced quickly through it:

Rome is exceedingly interesting. Today, Sunday, August 1, there was a solar eclipse, with the moon covering the sun, darkening the Eternal City. The newspapers were trying to tie this event to everything else that has been happening. Speaking of events, two days ago, American bombers attacked Rome, aiming to destroy the rail yards of the main train station, the Termini. Some of the bombs went astray and five hundred Romans were killed and many more were wounded. The Church of San Lorenzo, where the Pope’s predecessor is buried, was damaged. Pius XII hurried there where he prayed, offered money and sympathy. When he left, his long white coat was covered with blood. I don’t know what to think. Of course, with the Allies landing in Sicily and American bombers over Rome—that’s all good news. But innocent people getting killed upsets me.

Then, last week, on July 24th, Mussolini was voted out of office and a constitutional monarchy with a democratic parliament replaced him. This is wonderful news. But, now everyone expects the Germans to invade Italy.

Rome, as you can see, is in turmoil. I’m safe at the Swiss Institute—with the American Academy closed, I’ve got nothing official to do, so I spend my days in the Swiss library.

There is one unusual thing. Two days ago, on July 30, a cardinal and a priest from the Vatican—all at the official request of Pius XII—visited the Swiss Institute and the American Academy. They arrived and were greeted with as much fanfare as the dour Swiss know how to do—which isn’t much. It seems they really wanted to visit the grounds of the American Academy, so I took them around. They were very secretive, so I have nothing to report, except the oddity of their visit.

If I were superstitious, I’d wonder about the moon blocking the sun and the coincidence of the cardinal’s visit. But I’m not superstitious.

Love to you and your family,