Marco got up, and Sofia followed. They skirted the main altar and entered the sacristy, where they found a priest, one of the young men who worked in the episcopal offices, coming in at another door.

'Ah, Signor Valoni, I was looking for you! The cardinal would like to see you in his office. The armored van will be coming for the shroud in about a half hour. One of your men-Antonino, I think-called to tell us. The cardinal says he won't rest easy until he knows the shroud is safe in the bank, even though one can't take a step without bumping into one of the carabinieri you've sent."

"Thank you, padre. The shroud will be guarded until it enters the vault, and I will be in the armored van personally to make sure it arrives safely."

"His Eminence has asked that Padre Yves accompany the shroud to the bank, as the Church's representative and to ensure that everything possible is done for its safety."

"That's fine, padre, no problem with me."

The cardinal seemed nervous when Marco and Sofia entered his office.

"Signor Valoni! Come in, come in! And Dottoressa Galloni! Please, have a seat."

"Your Eminence," said Marco, "Dottoressa Galloni and I will be riding with the shroud to the bank. I understand that Padre Yves will be coming with us."

"Yes, yes, but that wasn't why I wanted to speak with you. I wanted you to know that the Vatican is very concerned about this matter, this fire. Monsignor Aubry has stressed that the pope himself is troubled, and the monsignor has asked me to keep him informed of all new developments so he can report them direcdy to the Holy Father. So, Signor Valoni, I must insist that you keep me up-to-date as to how your investigation is proceeding. You may of course count on our absolute discretion."

"Your Eminence, we don't know anything yet-the only thing we have is a body in the morgue. A man of about thirty, unidentified, without a tongue. We don't know whether he's Italian or Swedish or what. We're working around the clock to develop more leads."

"Of course, of course… I'll give you my private number, in my residence, and my cellular number, so you can get in touch with me twenty-four hours a day should you discover anything of importance. I'd like to know every step you're taking."

The cardinal wrote out his telephone numbers on a card, which Marco slipped into his shirt pocket. He had no intention of keeping the cardinal informed of the blind alleys his investigation was taking him down, so that the cardinal, in turn, could report to Monsignor Aubry, who could report to the Under-Secretary of State, who could report to the Secretary of State, who could report to God knew who-and then there was the pope.

But he didn't say that to the cardinal. He just nodded.

"When the shroud is safely in the armored vault at the bank, Signor Valoni, I want you and Padre Yves to call me immediately."

Marco raised a questioning eyebrow. The cardinal was treating him as though he worked for him, not the Art Crimes Department. He decided, though, that he'd let the episcopal impertinence pass. He stood up, and Sofia followed suit.

"If you'll excuse us, Your Eminence; the armored car must be almost here."

5

THE THREE MEN WERE LYING ON COTS. REST-ing, each lost in his own thoughts. They had failed, and they had to leave Turin in the next few days. The city had become dangerous for them.

Their brother had died in the fire, and the autopsy would surely reveal that he had no tongue. None of them did. Trying to go back into the cathedral at this point would be suicide; their contact had told them that the carabinieri were everywhere, interrogating everyone, and that he wouldn't rest easy until they were out of the city.

They would go, but for at least a couple of days, until the carabinieri loosened the noose and the media rushed off to some new catastrophe, they would stay hidden in their underground retreat.

The basement was humid, musty; it smelled of mold and mildew, and there was barely room to walk. Their contact had left them food and water for three or four days. He'd told them that he wouldn't be back until he could be sure the danger had passed. Two days had gone by, and it seemed an eternity.

Thousands of miles from that basement, in New York, in a glass and steel tower, in an office completely soundproofed and equipped with state-of-the-art security measures, seven elegantly dressed men were celebrating the failure of the group in Turin with a glass of the finest burgundy.

More than triumph, they felt relief. They had reviewed in detail the information they received. Events had veered perilously close to disaster and they had resolved to take different measures if-when-the need arose again.

The men ranged in age from fifty to seventy. The oldest raised his hand slightly and the others fell silent, expectant.

"My sole remaining concern is what we're being told about this detective, the director of the Art Crimes Department. It appears he's not going to let go of the matter very readily this time and may be looking beyond the immediate incident."

"We'll double our security measures and be sure that our men continue to blend flawlessly into the background. I've spoken with Paul. He'll try to keep abreast of what this Valoni is doing, but it won't be easy. Anything untoward could expose him to scrutiny. In my opinion, master, we should stay back, keep low, do nothing-just watch." The speaker was tall, athletic, in his mid-fifties, with graying hair and sculpted features that might have belonged to a Roman emperor.

The man whom he had addressed surveyed the others.

"Anyone else?"

Everyone concurred; for the moment they would simply observe from a distance as Valoni went about his work, and their contact, Paul, would be instructed not to press too hard for information. They went on to set a date for their next meeting and to change the code keys they would use until then.

They were preparing to leave when one of them, his accent French-inflected, asked the question on all their minds:

"Will they try again?"

The master shook his head. "No, not immediately. There's too much risk. This group will try to get out of Italy, then contact Addaio. Even if they're lucky and make it back to him, it will take time. Addaio will be in no hurry to send a new team."

"The last time it was two years," recalled the man with the Roman face.

"And we will still be there waiting for them, as we've always been," his master replied.

6

Josar followed Jesus wheresoever he went. Jesus' companions had become accustomed to Josar's presence and would often invite him to share a moment of quiet brotherhood with them. It was through these companions that Josar learned that Jesus knew he was to die. He also learned that, despite their counsel that the Nazarene should flee, Jesus insisted that he would remain, to do as his Father had bidden him.

It was difficult to comprehend why the Father would wish the Son to die, but Jesus would speak of it with such serenity that it seemed thus was it indeed meant to be.

Whenever Jesus saw Josar, he would make some gesture of friendship toward him. One day, addressing him, he had said:

"Josar, I must do as I am bidden to do. That is why I have been sent here by my Father. And in just that way, you, Josar, also have a mission you must fulfill. That is why you are here-you shall speak of what I am, of what you have seen, and I shall be near you when I am no longer among you."

Josar had been puzzled by these words, but he had not had the courage to ask for explanation or to contradict the master.

In recent days, the rumors had grown more persistent. The priests wanted the Romans to solve the problem of Jesus of Nazareth, while Pilate, the governor, was attempting in turn to incite the Jews to judge the man who was one of them. It was only a matter of time before one or the other acted.